THE  NOVELS  OF 
FRANK  SWINNERTON 

THE  HAPPY  FAMILY 
ON  THE  STAIRCASE 
THE   CHASTE  "WIFE 
SHOPS  AND  HOUSES 

NOCTURNE 
SEPTEMBER 
•^COCXUETTE 


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COQUETTE 

FRANK  SWINNERTON 


BY  FRANK  SWINNERTON 

Coquette 

September 

Shops  and  Houses 

Nocturne 

The  Chaste  Wife 

On  the  Staircase 

The  Happy  Fambut 

The  Casement 

The  Young  Idea 

The  Merry  Heart 

George  Gissing 
A  Critical  Study 

R.  L.  Stevenson 
A  Critical  Study 


COQUETTE 

BY 

FRANK  SWINNERTON 

AUTHOR  OF  "SEPTEMBER,"  "SHOPS  AND 
HOUSES,"  "NOCTURNE,"  ETC 


NEW  xSr  YORK 
GEORGE   H.   DORAN   COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1921, 
V  BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OP  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  ONE 


Toby      .    » 


•i       A       a 


BOOK  TWO 
Gaga      ,.«    .j    ....««»,    n    ••    s      B9 

BOOK  THREE 
Consequences    .    .    ..««j,««aaa9    209 


BOOK  ONE:    TOBY 


COQUETTE 

BOOK  ONE:    TOBY 


TT  was  Saturday  night — a  winter  night  in  which  the 
■■-  wind  hummed  through  every  draughty  crevice  between 
the  windows  and  under  the  doors  and  down  the  chimneys. 
Outside,  in  the  Homsey  Road,  horse-omnibuses  rattled 
by  and  the  shops  that  were  still  open  at  eleven  o'clock 
glistened  with  light.  Up  the  road,  at  the  butcher's  just 
below  the  Plough  public-house,  a  small  crowd  lingered, 
turning  over  scraps  of  meat,  while  the  butcher  himself, 
chanting  "Lovely,  lovely,  lovely!"  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy, 
plunged  again  into  a  fresh  piece  of  meat  the  attractive 
legend,  "Oh,  mother,  look!  Three  ha'pence  a  pound!" 
Just  over  the  way,  at  the  Supply  Stores,  they  had  begun 
to  roll  down  the  heavy  shutter,  hiding  the  bright  windows, 
and  leaving  only  a  narrow  doorway,  through  which  light 
streamed  and  made  rainbow  colours  on  the  pavement 
outside.  The  noise  of  the  street  was  a  racketting  roar, 
hardly  lower  now  than  it  had  been  all  the  evening.  Sally 
crouched  at  the  window  of  the  first  floor  flat,  looking 
down  at  the  black  roadway,  and  watching  the  stragglers 
from  the  Supply  Stores. 

In  the  flat  above  there  was  the  sound  of  one  who  sang, 
vamping  an  accompaniment  upon  the  piano  and  empha- 
sising the  simple  time  of  his  carol  by  a  dully  stamped 
foot  ui>on  the  floor.  His  foot — making  in  soft  slippers  a 
dead    "dump-dump-dump" — shook    the    ceiling    of    the 

9 


10  COQUETTE 

Mintos'  flat.  They  could  hear  his  dry  voice  huskily  roar- 
ing, "There  you  are,  there  you  are,  there  you  ain't — ain't 
— ain't."  They  had  heard  it  a  thousand  times,  always 
with  the  familiar  stamp.  It  was  very  gay.  Old  Perce, 
as  he  was  called,  was  a  carver  in  a  City  restaurant.  It 
was  he  who  received  orders  from  the  knowing;  and  in 
return  for  apparent  tit-bits  he  received  acknowledgments 
in  coin — twopence  or  threepence  a  time.  Therefore,  when 
he  reached  home  each  evening,  nicely  cheery  and  about  a 
quarter  drunk,  his  first  act  after  having  tea  was  to  with- 
draw from  his  pockets  a  paper  bag  or  two — such  as  those 
supplied  by  banks  for  the  carriage  of  silver — which  he 
would  empty  of  greasy  coppers.  He  piled  these  coppers 
in  mounds  of  twelve,  and  counted  them  over  several 
times.  He  then  smoked  his  pipe,  went  into  his  front 
room,  and  played,  "There  you  are,  there  you  are,  there 
you  ain't — ain't — ain't."  Sally  did  not  remember  ever 
having  heard  him  sing  anything  else.  He  was  singing  it 
now  with  customary  gusto.  Sally  thought  he  must  be  a 
very  rich  man.  Old  Perce's  wife,  who  let  her  practise  on 
their  piano,  hinted  as  much.  His  wages  were  low,  she 
said,  but  in  a  week  his  tips  often  came  to  three  or  four 
pounds.  Three  or  four  pounds !  Whew !  Sally's  father 
only  made  thirty-five  shillings  in  a  week,  everything  in- 
cluded. Mrs.  Perce  told  Sally  many  other  things,  which 
Sally  shrewdly  treasured  in  memory.  It  was  well  to  know 
these  things,  Sally  thought :  any  day  they  might  be  .  .  . 
useful.  For  a  girl  not  yet  seventeen,  Sally  had  a  strangely 
abundant  sense  of  possible  utilities.  All  old  Perce's  rela- 
tives were  licensed  victuallers,  she  had  learned;  and  one 
day  he  too  would  take  a  "little  'ouse"  and  stand  behind  his 
own  bar,  instead  of  behind  the  counter  of  a  city  restau- 
rant. Those  would  be  days !  "  'Ave  a  trap  and  go  out 
Sunday  afternoons,"  Mrs.  Perce  said.  "Oo,  I  wish  you'd 
take  me!"  Sally  cried.     "Course  I  will!"  answered  Mrs. 


TOBY  11 

Perce,  with  the  greatest  good-humour.  Meanwhile  old 
Perce  had  money  out  on  loan.  "I'd  like,"  thought  Sally, 
with  considering  eyes,  "to  have  money  out  on  loan.  I  will, 
too.    One  day.    Why  shouldn't  I  ?" 

Sally's  mother,  Mrs.  Minto,  was  yawning  by  the  small 
fire  in  the  grate.  She  was  a  meagre  little  woman  of  about 
forty,  tired  and  energetic.  The  Mintos'  flat,  although 
very  bare,  was  very  clean.  Even  when  there  was  nothing 
to  eat,  there  was  water  for  scouring;  and  Mrs.  Minto's 
hands  were  a  sort  of  red-grey,  hard  and  lined,  all  the 
little  folds  of  the  discoloured  skin  looking  as  if  they  had 
been  bitten  deep  with  acid  that  made  them  black.  Her 
hair  was  very  thin,  and  she  drew  it  closely  back  from  her 
forehead  into  a  tiny  knob  like  a  bell-pull,  leaving  the  brow 
high  and  dry  as  if  the  tide  of  hair  had  receded.  Her  lids 
were  heavy  over  anxious  eyes;  her  mouth  was  a  bitter 
stroke  across  her  face,  under  the  small,  inquiring  nose. 
Her  breast  was  flat,  and  her  body  bent  through  daily 
housework  and  too  little  care  of  herself,  too  little  personal 
pride. 

Sally  resembled  her  mother.  She  too  was  small  and 
thin.  Her  hair  was  pale  brown,  an  insipid  colour  with  a 
slight  sandiness  in  it.  Her  cheeks  were  faintly  freckled 
just  under  the  eyes,  and  her  nose,  equally  small  and  in- 
quiring, had  some  freckles  upon  it  too.  Her  eyelashes 
were  light ;  her  eyes  a  grey  with  splashes  of  amber.  She 
was  sitting  huddled  up  near  the  window,  breathing  in- 
tently, looking  out  of  it  with  eager,  fascinated  interest. 
The  streets  were  full  of  lures.  Outside,  there  was  some- 
thing which  drew  and  absorbed  her  whole  nature.  The 
noise  and  the  lights  intoxicated  her;  the  darkness  was 
even  more  bewilderingly  full  of  dangerous  attractiveness. 
It  was  night,  and  night  was  the  time  when  thrills  came, 
when  her  heart  beat  closely  with  a  sense  of  timid  impu- 
dence, a  sort  of  leashed  daring.    In  darkness  she  brushed 


12  COQUETTE 

hands  against  the  hands  of  boys,  and  got  into  conversa- 
tion with  strangers,  and  felt  herself  romantically  trans- 
figured. They  couldn't  see  how  plain  she  was  in  the  dark : 
she  herself  forgot  it  In  the  dark  she  felt  that  she  was 
bolder,  with  nobody  to  observe  her  and  carry  tales  to  her 
mother.  Boys  who  wouldn't  look  at  her  in  daylight  fol- 
lowed her  at  night  along  dark  streets.  She  was  getting 
very  experienced  with  boys.  She  could  look  after  herself 
with  them.  Her  eyes  interestedly  and  appraisingly 
scanned  every  male,  so  that  she  came  to  know  a  great  deal 
about  the  ways  of  men,  although  she  never  put  her  knowl- 
edge into  words.  She  scrutinised  them.  In  daylight  her 
plainness  was  a  help  in  that,  because  they  did  not  take  any 
notice  of  so  insignificant  a  figure,  and  she  absorbed  every 
detail  of  the  "fellows"  she  met,  without  having  to  do  it 
under  their  return  observation,  by  means  of  side-glances. 
This  was  a  benefit,  and  at  heart  made  her  bolder,  more 
ruthless. 

At  this  moment,  watching  the  people  come  out  from 
the  little  door  in  the  shutter  of  the  Supply  Stores,  Sally 
ignored  the  silhouettes  of  women;  but  she  peered  quite 
intensely  at  those  of  the  men.  Men  filled  her  thoughts. 
She  was  always  choosing  which  men  she  liked,  and  which 
did  not  interest  her,  and  which  were  weak  and  easily  ex- 
ploited. Or,  if  she  were  prevented  from  doing  that,  she 
could  still  look  at  them,  seeing  that  they  were  men,  and 
not  women.  The  noise  was  good,  the  lights  were  good; 
but  the  darkness,  such  as  there  now  was  in  the  street 
below,  in  all  the  diminished  labour  of  late  traffic,  was 
best  of  all.  She  saw  the  last  customer  at  the  Stores  shown 
to  the  door  by  Mr.  Beddow,  the  keeper  of  the  shop;  and 
the  narrow  door  in  the  shutters  closed.  The  last  stream 
of  light  was  abruptly  cut  oflf  The  face  of  the  Stores  was 
black.  All  the  opposite  side  of  the  roadway  was  now 
black.    There  were  no  more  silhouettes. 


TOBY  13 

Mr.  Beddow's  cheeks  were  very  fat,  and  when  he 
smiled  his  eyes  disappeared  into  slits  just  behind  the  top 
of  his  bulging  cheeks.  He  wore  a  light  frizzly  beard. 
Once  Mr.  Beddow  had  given  her  a  little  bottle  of  acid- 
drops.  All  the  acid-drops  were  gone  now.  She  had  given 
some  of  them  to  May  Pearcey,  who  worked  with  her. 
They  had  eaten  the  remainder  next  day  over  their  work, 
while  Miss  Jubb  was  out  of  the  room ;  and  the  drops  had 
made  them  thirsty  and  had  given  them  hot,  sweet  breath. 
Funny  she  should  remember  it  all  so  clearly. 

May  Pearcey  and  she  were  both  learners  at  a  small 
dressmaker's  shop  in  a  street  ofif  Holloway  Road.  They 
used  to  walk  together  along  Grove  Road  in  the  mornings, 
and  at  dinner-time,  and  in  the  evenings.  But  the  boys  all 
looked  at  May,  who  was  a  big  girl  with  rosy  cheeks  and 
eyes  that  were  bold  with  many  conquests.  Sally  only  got 
the  soppy  ones.  That  was  her  luck.  Sally  wondered  why 
a  good-looking  boy  so  often  had  a  soppy  one  with  him. 
She  wasn't  soppy  herself.  The  boys  thought  she  was; 
they  never  looked  at  her.  But  May  picked  up  the  good- 
looking  ones,  and  Sally  had  to  take  what  was  left.  She 
hated  to  see  her  boy  always  looking  on  at  the  others,  at 
May,  and  never  at  herself;  she  hated  to  know  that  her 
boy  didn't  like  the  look  of  her,  and  that  he  couldn't  think 
of  anything  to  say  to  her:  and  didn't  take  the  trouble  to 
think  very  hard.  It  made  Sally  snap  her  teeth.  One 
day,  she  reassured  herself,  it  would  be  different.  One 
da}',  they'd  know. 

Slowly  she  stretched,  with  her  arms  high  above  her 
head  and  her  mouth  stretched  sideways  in  a  yawn.  Was 
mother  asleep?  She  felt  cramped  and  tired,  and  as  she 
turned  round  to  the  light  her  eyes  blinked  at  the  contrast 
with  the  outer  darkness. 


14  COQUETTE 

ii 

"Oo!"  groaned  Sally.     "Tired!" 

She  yawned  again,  a  yawn  that  ended  in  a  breathless 
gasp.    Mrs.  Minto  looked  across  the  room  at  her. 

"D'you  want  any  supper?"  she  asked. 

"Wotcher  got?  Peaches  and  cream,  and  a  glass  of 
champagne  ?" 

Mrs.  Minto  wriggled  her  skinny  shoulders  and  fingered 
her  chin. 

"Don't  you  be  saucy  to  me,  my  gel.  There's  a  bit  of 
dry  bread  on  the  plate  there.  And  half  a  glass  of  stout. 
You  might  think  yourself  lucky  to  get  that." 

"Well,  I  s'pose  I  might.  But  somehow  I  don't.  Dry 
bread !    It's  Saturday,  ain't  it  ?    What  I  mean,  pay-day." 

There  was  a  sour  glance.  Mrs.  Minto  sighed,  and 
looked  at  the  clock,  frowning  and  wriggling  her  shoul- 
ders. It  was  a  form  of  constant  drill  or  shudder  that 
affected  her. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "And  your  father  not  home.  Pubs 
are  closed.  Wonder  where  he  is.  Come  on,  Sally.  Get 
your  supper  and  get  to  bed.    Sharp,  now." 

Sally  rose  to  her  feet  and  walked  across  the  room.  She 
cut  a  hunk  of  bread,  and  stood  about  munching  it,  little 
crumbs  gathering  upon  her  lips.  You  could  see  how  thin 
she  was  when  her  arm  was  raised.  Yet  she  made  a  few 
little  dancing  steps  as  she  ate,  and  her  face  was  not  with- 
out a  comical  air  of  mischief.  She  was  an  urchin,  and  she 
looked  it.  She  was  unscrupulous,  and  a  liar;  but  she 
knew  a  great  deal  for  her  years,  and  she  never  shrank 
from  knowledge,  because  she  was  athirst  for  it.  Knowl- 
edge which  could  be  turned  to  account  was  her  preoccupa- 
tion. She  stood  looking  at  her  mother,  weighing  her  up, 
and  in  the  midst  of  her  daughterly  contempt  she  had  room 
for  a  little  admiration  also.     They  were  not  altogether 


TOBY  16 

unlike;  but  Mrs.  Minto  had  taken  the  wrong  turning. 
She  had  married  a  drinker,  and  was  a  slave.  Well,  Sally 
had  benefited  by  knowledge  of  that.  She  might  marry  a 
fool — probably  would  have  to  do  so,  as  the  wily  ones  took 
what  they  could  get  and  went  off  on  their  own;  but  she 
would  never  marry  so  incautiously  as  her  mother  had 
done.  Why  should  she?  If  one  generation  does  not  react 
to  the  follies  of  the  earlier  generation,  and  seek  an  exactly 
contrary  evil,  what  becomes  of  progress  ?  Sally  had  her 
wits.    She  thought  they  would  never  fail  her. 

As  she  sat  down  near  her  mother,  they  both  heard  a 
sudden  slamming  of  the  front  door,  two  flights  of  stairs 
below.  Their  eyes  flew  in  an  exchanged  glance  that  held 
trepidation.  It  was  probably  dad,  and  at  this  time  on  a 
Saturday  night  dad  was  usually  the  worse  for  wear.  Both 
listened.  There  was  a  heavy  step.  Then  the  sound  of 
voices — a  woman's  raised  voice,  and  dad's.  It  was  evi- 
dently a  row.  Sally  ran  to  the  door,  and  they  listened  to 
what  was  passing.  Down  the  half-lighted  stairway  they 
could  just  discern  two  figures,  faintly  outlined  in  the 
wavering  flutter  of  gas.  Obviously  dad  was  drunk,  for 
he  was  haranguing  a  rather  hysterical  Mrs.  Clancy,  who 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  shouted  after  him. 
She  said  that  he  was  drunk,  that  he  ought  not  to  come  in 
at  that  time  of  night  stumbling  about  like  an  ostrich, 
that  decent  people  liked  a  little  quiet,  if  he  pleased.  Mr. 
Minto  said  he  would  come  in  when  he  chose,  and  in  what 
state  he  preferred.  He  was  not  obliged  to  consult  such 
an  indiscriminate  mother  as  Mrs.  Clancy,  and  he  would 
not  do  it.  Far  from  it.  Far  from  it.  He  stood  for  lib- 
erty. He  had  as  good  a  right  to  the  staircase  as  anybody 
else  in  the  house.  More  right,  in  fact.  Let  her  bring  out 
Mr.  Clancy  if  she  wanted  a  fight.  .  .  .  He  then  proceeded 
to  the  top  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs.  He  climbed  with 
difficulty,  missing  a  stair  once  in  a  while,  and  breathing 


16  COQUETTE 

hard.  He  was  pursued  by  an  outcry.  A  third  voice  was 
heard — that  of  Mr,  Clancy.  It  was  directed  at  first  en- 
tirely to  the  woman,  and  begged  her  to  come  back  into  the 
kitchen.  They  could  see  her  arm  caught  by  Mr.  Clancy, 
from  whom  she  freed  herself  by  a  blow.  There  was  a 
pause.  But  Mrs.  Clancy  broke  out  afresh.  She  was 
beyond  control,  passionately  shrill,  and  quite  wildly  re- 
sentful of  what  had  been  said  and  done  in  her  despite. 

"Oh  dear,  oh  dear !"  cried  Mrs.  Minto,  with  inadequate 
petulance.  She  stepped  out  on  to  the  landing,  fingering 
her  mouth.  Sally  tiptoed  after,  hardly  moved,  but  in- 
tensely curious.  She  was  grinning,  but  nervously  and 
with  contempt  of  the  row.  "Joe!"  called  Mrs.  Minto. 
"Joe!  Come  upstairs.  Don't  get  quarrelling  like  that. 
Ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself .  Come  upstairs !"  She 
looked  over  the  rails  at  her  husband,  like  a  sparrow  on  a 
twig.    He  was  a  flight  below.    "Come  up  here !" 

There  was  a  fresh  outburst  from  Mrs.  Clancy. 

"You  put  your  'usband  to  bed,  Mrs.  Minto.  Pore 
woman!  Pore  soul!  Fancy  'aving  a  thing  like  that  for 
a  'usband !  'Usband,  indeed !  A  great  noisy  drunkard,  a 
great  beastly  elephant,  boozing  all  his  money  away. 
Drunken  fool,  stamping  about.  .  .  ." 

"You  shut  your  mouth!"  bawled  dad,  thickly.  "You 
shut  your  mouth.  See  ?  When  I  want  .  .  .  You*  shut 
your  bloody  jaw.    See?" 

"Joe!"  called  Mrs.  Minto,  urgently,  a  mean  little  slip 
peering  over  the  bannisters. 

"Joe!"  mimicked  Mrs.  Clancy.  "You  take  him  to  bed, 
Mrs.  Minto.  Take  his  boots  off.  He's  not  safe.  He's  a 
danger,  that's  what  he  is.  I  shall  tell  the  police,  Mr. 
Minto.  It's  got  to  come.  You  got  to  stop  it.  I  shall  tell 
the  police,    I  will,  I  swear  it,  .  .  ." 

Mr.  Minto  retorted.  His  retort  provoked  Mrs.  Clancy 
to  rebuke.    The  quarrel  was  suddenly  intensified.    It  be- 


TOBY  17 

came  rougher.  Even  Sally  was  excited,  and  her  hands 
were  clasped  together.  Mr.  Minto  lost  his  temper.  He 
became  mad.  A  fierce  brutality  seized  him  in  its  unman- 
ageable grip.  They  heard  him  give  a  kind  of  frenzied 
cry  of  passion,  saw  him  raise  his  hands,  heard  a  hurried 
scuffle  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  where  the  Clancys,  both 
alarmed,  drew  back  towards  their  room.  And  then  the 
rattle  of  an  arm  against  a  rail,  a  slither,  a  bumping,  and 
a  low  thud.  Dad,  overbalancing  in  his  rage,  had  pitched 
and  fallen  headlong  down  the  stairs.  Mrs.  Minto  and 
Sally  set  up  a  thin  screaming.  The  gas  flickered  and 
burned  steadily  again.  A  shriek  came  from  Mrs.  Clancy. 
It  was  repeated.  Mr.  Minto  lay  quite  still  in  a  confused 
heap  in  the  lower  passage. 

iii 

Dad  was  dead.  It  was  the  end  of  that  stage  in  Sally's 
life.  After  the  funeral,  Sally  and  her  mother  were  quite 
without  money.  Everything  was  so  wretched  and  un- 
foreseen that  the  two  were  lost  in  this  miserable  new 
aspect  of  poverty  and  improvidence.  For  a  time  Mrs. 
Perce  was  good  to  them,  and  Mrs.  Clancy  would  have 
been  the  same  if  Mrs.  Minto  had  not  stared  through  her 
as  through  a  pane  of  glass.  But  when  that  was  done,  and 
the  funeral  was  over,  they  had  nothing.  Together  they 
sat  in  their  bare  room  above  the  noisy  traffic  of  Homsey 
Road,  not  speaking  much,  but  all  the  time  turning  and 
turning  in  their  heads  all  possible  ways  of  making  money. 
In  another  two  or  three  years  Sally  might  have  earned 
more;  but  she  was  not  now  much  above  sixteen,  and  at 
sixteen,  in  the  dressmaking,  one  does  not  earn  a  living. 
And  while  at  first  they  thought  that  Mrs.  Minto  might 
get  needlework  to  do,  with  which  Sally  could  help,  they 
found  this  out  of  the  question.    Mrs.  Minto's  eyes  were 


18  COQUETTE 

weak,  and  she  could  not  keep  her  seams  straight.  The 
machine  they  had  was  ricketty.  Sewing,  for  her,  was 
impossible.  For  a  few  days  she  was  stunned  with  the  new 
demand  for  which  she  was  unprepared.  She  was  nerve- 
less. It  made  Sally  sick  to  watch  her  mother  and  to 
realise  from  the  vacancy  which  so  soon  appeared  upon 
her  face  that  memory  and  a  kind  of  futile  pondering  had 
robbed  her  brains  of  activity.  With  a  bitter  sense  of 
grudge  against  life,  a  tightening  of  lips  already  thin,  and 
a  narrowing  of  eyes  already  discomfitingly  merciless, 
Sally  savagely  told  herself  that  she  had  to  do  everything 
alone.  It  was  she  who  must  save  the  situation.  The 
arrogant  grasp  of  this  fact  made  a  great  impression  upon 
her  mind  and  her  character.  Henceforward  she  no  longer 
dreamed  about  men,  but  was  alert  in  her  intention  to  make 
everything  her  tool,  and  ever^-body.  From  a  young  girl 
she  had  been  converted  into  an  unscrupulous  taker  from 
all.  The  death  of  her  father  was  a  blow  which  had  sud- 
denly drawn  together  all  those  vague  determinations 
which  had  lain  concealed.  There  was  nothing  except 
dangerous  theft  from  which  her  mind  shrank.  Looking 
afresh  at  her  mother,  she  felt  stirred  by  a  new  impatience, 
and  a  succeeding  indifferent  contempt.  Love  had  been 
killed,  and  from  now  onwards  she  would  play  for  her 
own  hand.  Small  teeth  met  with  a  snap.  Her  thin  lips 
were  drawn  back.  Mrs.  Minto  shrank  from  the  strange 
venomous  snarl  which  she  saw  disfiguring  Sally's  face. 

It  was  as  though  Sally  felt  trapped.  Ever}'thing  had 
been  spoilt  by  this  unexpected  happening,  and  Sally's  un- 
conscious helplessness  revealed.  It  was  a  blow^  to  her 
vanity,  a  douche  to  her  crude  romanticism.  She  had  felt 
cramped  and  irritable  before ;  but  now  she  was  made  to 
realise  how  little  she  had  with  which  to  fight  against 
calamity  and  the  encroachments  of  others.  Compared 
with  this  new  danger,  of  starvation  or  slavery,  all  old  dis- 


TOBY  19 

comforts  were  shown  to  have  been  trivial,  because  they 
had  been  accidents  in  a  life  which,  however  rough  and 
ugly,  had  been  at  least  absorbed  in  plans  for  enjoyment. 
Now  plans  for  enjoyment  gave  place  to  expedients  for 
self-protection.  Sally  was  indeed  fierce  and  resentful.  It 
was  with  animosity  that  she  put  together  the  few  sticks 
of  rubbish  which  remained  to  them  and  helped  her  mother 
to  rearrange  these  things  in  a  single  room  which  they 
had  taken  on  the  other  side  of  Holloway  Road.  No  more 
for  them  the  delights  of  Homsey  Road  and  three  rooms ; 
but  the  confined  space  surrounded  by  these  four  dingy 
walls.  What  wonder  that  Sally  was  desperate  for  fresh 
air,  for  escape,  and  ran  out  of  doors  as  soon  as  she  could 
wriggle  free!  What  wonder  that  she  walked  quickly 
about  the  dark  streets !  Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  with 
clenched  fists  she  secretly  whimpered  in  this  new  angry 
despair.  Of  what  avail?  She  was  alone,  and  the  streets 
were  dark;  and  behind  her  lay  that  one  room,  gloomy 
and  wretched,  with  a  speechless  ruminating  mother  for 
solitary  welcome ;  and  no  hope  ...  no  hope. 

The  roads  she  now  so  wildly  trod  were  familiar  ground 
to  Sally.  They  were  all  gravelled  roads,  upon  which  in 
the  evenings  boys  and  girls  cycled  and  flirted,  and  in 
which  on  Saturdays  and  after  school  hours  children 
bowled  their  hoops  and  played  together.  As  the  darkness 
grew,  the  roads  were  more  deserted,  for  the  children  were 
in  bed,  and  the  boys  and  girls  were  not  allowed  out.  Then 
appeared  young  men  and  girls  of  slightly  greater  age 
and  of  a  different  class,  the  girls  walking  two  by  two,  the 
young  men  likewise.  The  young  men  cleared  their  throats, 
the  girls  peeped  and  a  little  raised  their  voices,  a  relation 
was  established,  and  still  the  pairs  continued  to  prom- 
enade, safe  in  couples,  and  relishing  the  thought  that  they 
were  enjoying  stolen  acquaintance.  Sally  knew  the  whole 
thing  through  and  through.     She  had  walked  so  with 


20  COQUETTE 

May.  She  had  tried  to  talk  to  the  boys  and  found  them 
soppy,  and  herself  soppy,  and  everything  soppy.  She 
had  wanted  more  and  more  excitement,  and  all  this  stroll- 
ing and  holding  hands  in  the  dark,  and  snatching  them 
away,  and  running,  and  being  caught,  was  tame  to  her 
eager  longing  for  greater  adventure.  And  now  she  walked 
rapidly  about  the  roads,  her  eyes  full  of  despair,  her  heart 
heavy,  her  brain  active  and  contemptuous.  She  knew  her 
own  cleverness.  She  knew  it  too  well.  And  it  was  smart- 
ing now  at  being  proved  such  an  ignominiously  valueless 
possession.  She  might  be  clever,  she  might  have  brains 
enough  to  despise  May  Pearcey ;  but  she  had  not  the  power 
to  make  a  living.  She  must  still  pinch  and  starve  beside 
her  mother.    Trapped!    Trapped! 

It  was  a  matter  of  weeks,  this  mood  of  indignant 
despair,  of  baffled  powerlessness  in  face  of  reality.  And 
each  night,  after  such  a  lonely  walk,  in  such  a  vehement 
mood,  Sally  would  return  to  the  miserable  room  in  which 
for  the  present  she  was  to  spend  her  life.  It  was  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  on  the  second  floor,  and  there  was 
another  floor  above.  The  room  had  a  stained  ceiling  and 
a  wallpaper  that  had  discoloured  in  streaks.  The  original 
pattern  had  been  of  small  flowers  on  a  pseudo-primrose 
background.  Now  all  was  merged  in  a  general  stagnation 
of  Cambridge  blue  and  coffee  colour.  Mrs.  Minto  had 
carefully  put  the  washstand  beneath  a  patch  that  had  been 
washed  nearly  white  by  splashes;  and  Sally  had  insisted 
that  it  should  stand  in  another  part  of  the  room.  "But 
that's  where  a  washstand's  stood  before,"  wailed  Mrs. 
Minto.  "That's  iDhy^  explained  Sally,  brutally.  "Put 
the  chest-of -drawers  there.  /  don't  want  to  splash  exactly 
where  other  people  have  splashed.  Not  likely !  The  place 
ought  to  have  been  papered  new." 

When  their  bed  and  the  washstand  and  a  table  and  the 
chairs  and  chest-of -drawers  were  in  there  was  not  much 


TOBY  21 

else  to  arrange.  Nor  was  there  room  for  very  much,  be- 
cause the  bed  took  up  about  a  quarter  of  the  space.  The 
Mintos  had  no  pictures.  They  thus  anticipated  the  best 
modern  taste.  But  the  consequence  was  that  if  Sally 
happened  to  be  irritable  she  saw  the  wallpaper,  and  the 
wallpaper  drove  her  crazy.  It  was  a  constant  exaspera- 
tion to  her.  Her  extremely  good  taste  was  beginning  to 
bud,  and  wallpaper  is  as  vital  an  aesthetic  test  as  any 
other.  She  had  not  yet  the  power  or  the  knowledge  to 
dress  effectively,  but  she  was  already  learning  intuitively 
such  things  as  harmony  and  colour-values.  She  gave  an 
eye  to  neatness  and  cleanliness,  and  knew  how  to  riddle 
the  costumes  of  girls  of  her  own  class,  beginning  with 
May  Pearcey.  She  also  was  becoming  aware  of  all  Miss 
Jubb's  deficiencies.  Higher  than  her  own  class  she  could 
not  well  go,  because  she  never  had  opportunities  for  seeing 
well-dressed  women.  It  was  so  much  the  Minto  habit  to 
rise  late  on  Sundays,  to  sit  about  during  the  afternoon, 
and  to  go  out  only  when  other  people  were  generally 
indoors,  that  Sundays  were  wasted  days.  Moreover, 
Sally  had  not  in  the  past  thought  much  of  other  girls. 
She  had  thought  only  of  boys.  Even  her  new  spruceness 
was  a  comparatively  recent  manifestation.  She  was 
growing. 

She  was  growing  so  fast  that  her  old  knowledges  had 
been  undermined.  She  felt  raw.  She  felt  merely  exas- 
perated with  the  past,  so  that  she  desired  only  to  forget  it. 
All  she  had  seemed  to  know  and  to  relish  had  become  in- 
sipid to  Sally.  She  was  chafing  at  her  new  position,  and 
was  unconsciously  looking  round  and  round  her,  bewil- 
dered, for  a  new  path  to  follow.  She  could  no  longer  take 
the  old  silly  pleasure  in  hearing  of  May's  fresh  conquests, 
which  gave  May  such  monotonous  delight.  She  aban- 
doned "boys,"  and  was  rewarded  for  her  emancipation  by 
May's  indignant  sniffs  at  her  loss  of  spirit.     May  was 


22  COQUETTE 

driven  to  take  a  new  comrade,  a  girl  prettier  than  Sally, 
and  therefore  more  of  a  rival.  So  May  was  equally  dis- 
satisfied with  the  present  position.  She  had  lost  ground, 
and  some  of  her  victories  were  invented.  Nellie  Caven- 
dish had  a  sharp  tongue,  and  that  helped  May ;  but  Nellie 
was  less  coarsely  confident  than  May,  and  annexed  the 
boys  by  means  of  her  demureness  in  face  of  double  mean- 
ings. May  could  not  refrain  from  turning  away  to  hide 
a  burst  of  laughter.  That  gave  Nellie  an  advantage,  and 
May  secretly  longed  to  hunt  once  more  with  Sally.  When 
the  old  times  could  not  be  recaptured,  May  sneered  in  self- 
defence.  The  two  girls  did  not  chatter  over  their  work 
now  when  they  were  left  alone.  They  became  hostile, 
each  aggrieved,  and  both  mutually  contemptuous.  Sally 
kept  to  her  stitching,  and  glowered.  May  thought  to 
herself.  Sally  abruptly  announced  the  soppiness  of  May's 
continued  exploits.  When  asked  by  her  mother  if  she 
were  not  going  out  with  May,  Sally  returned  the  cold 
answer  that  May  was  soft,  and  continued  to  walk  alone, 
much  disturbed,  and  privately  indignant  that  her  mother 
should  be  so  blind  as  to  ignore  the  alteration  that  had 
come  about.  She  was  lonely  and  wretched,  spoiling  for 
any  mischief  that  might  offer. 

Material  for  the  use  of  such  desperation  never  lacks. 
It  arose  naturally.    Toby  came  into  her  life. 

Toby  was  a  young  man  of  about  twenty  years  of  age, 
who  lived  in  the  house.  She  caught  sight  of  him  one 
night  as  she  returned  home,  for  he  was  running  down  the 
stairs  as  she  went  up  them.  He  was  of  middle  height, 
very  dark  and  rather  stoutly  built;  and  he  wore  a  cap. 
That  was  all  she  noticed  at  their  first  encounter,  since  the 
stairs  were  dark :  that,  and  the  fact  that  he  did  not  draw 
to  one  side  as  they  met.  The  contact  filled  her  mind  with 
sudden  interest.  She  thought  about  him  as  she  munched 
her  supper,  and  wondered  what  he  was  really  like.    She 


TOBY  -^S 

wreathed  around  Toby  quite  a  host  of  guesses — ^not  very- 
deep  or  vivid,  but  sufficiently  so  to  make  her  think  of  him 
still  as  she  undressed  and  slipped  into  bed  beside  her 
mother.  Her  last  thought  before  sleep  came  was  a  faint 
enjoyment  of  the  knowledge  that  a  young  man  lived  in 
the  same  house.  It  was  the  faintest  of  thoughts,  due 
solely  to  her  restlessness;  but  in  the  gloom  she  was  con- 
scious of  him  and  of  the  conviction  that  they  would  meet 
again  upon  the  stairs.  For  that  time  this  was  as  far  as 
speculation  could  carry  her.  Sally  did  not  think  of  her- 
self at  all — only  that  there  was  a  young  man,  and  that 
she  should  see  him  again.  The  rest  of  her  attention  was 
absorbed  in  the  endeavour  to  remember  all  she  had  noticed 
of  his  appearance  in  that  hasty  meeting.  She  had  seen 
enough  to  be  sure  of  recognising  him  again  with  the  house 
as  associative  background.  That  was  all.  Knowing  it, 
she  feel  asleep,  and  dreamed  of  a  sudden  gift  of  beauty 
and  attractiveness. 

iv 

For  several  days  Sally  did  not  see  the  young  man,  and 
so  she  half  forgot  him,  lost  him  in  the  mixture  of  her 
more  pressing  preoccupations.  Every  morning  she  rose 
at  eight  o'clock,  after  her  mother  had  left  the  house  for 
her  first  situation,  and  then,  breakfasting  slowly,  she  had 
just  time  to  reach  Miss  Jubb's  by  nine.  She  did  not  like 
Miss  Jubb,  who  was  a  thin-faced  and  fussy  person  who 
always  wore  a  grey  pinafore  and  felt  that  her  untidy  grey 
hair  looked  as  though  it  might  hint  a  sorrow  rather  than 
betray  advancing  years.  Miss  Jubb  was  full  of  the  futile 
vanity  of  the  elderly  spinster,  her  mouth  full  of  pins,  and 
her  head  full  of  paper  patterns.  She  lived  with  her 
mother  on  two  floors  of  an  old  house,  and  one  of  the 
downstairs  rooms  was  used  on  Sundays  for  sitting  in  and 
during  the  week  for  trying  on.    The  work  she  did  never 


24  COQUETTE 

suggested  anything  of  the  enormous  pains  Miss  Jubb  took 
in  fitting,  in  fastening  pins  and  cutting  out.  She  was 
incurably  a  bad  dressmaker;  but  she  gave  her  cHents  the 
impression  that  she  knew  her  business.  This  was  be- 
cause she  was  so  careful,  and  because  they  knew  no  better 
than  she  did  what  women  may  and  may  not  wear  with 
propriety.  The  backs  of  all  skirts  coming  from  Miss 
Jubb  drooped  lower  than  the  fronts.  Her  bodices  always 
went  wrong  upon  the  shoulders.  She  was  great  on  tucks. 
But  she  was  cheap,  and  she  was  Sybil-like  in  her  mysteri- 
ous assurance.  So  she  supported  herself  and  her  mother; 
while  May  and  Sally  did  the  rough  basting  and  all  sorts 
of  odd  jobs  in  the  room  behind  the  parlour.  Here  were 
the  big  cutting-out  table,  the  treadled  sewing  machine, 
three  or  four  chairs,  many  fragments  of  material,  several 
half-made  garments,  and,  upon  the  walls,  a  number  of 
coloured  prints  from  fashion  papers.  In  such  surround- 
ings Sally  spent  her  days.  She  ate  her  lunch  at  twelve 
o'clock,  and  had  her  tea  at  four.  And  as  her  fingers 
worked,  or  her  feet  occasionally  by  special  permission 
propelled  the  sewing  machine,  she  thought  of  the  future 
and  planned  to  get  into  the  West  End. 

It  was  the  West  End  that  now  lured  her.  If  only  she 
could  get  into  the  West  End  all  her  troubles  would  be 
wiped  away  at  once,  she  felt.  She  could  possibly  make 
more  money  there;  but  even  if  she  did  not  succeed  in  that 
aim  she  would  still  be  in  the  running  for  better  work. 
That  she  could  do  better  work  she  never  doubted.  And 
she  knew  that  as  long  as  she  was  with  Miss  Jubb  she 
would  never  do  anything  at  all.  Some  instinct  told  her 
that.  She  knew  it.  She  knew  it  as  clearly  as  if  she  had 
surveyed  the  future  from  above.  It  was  not  that  she 
was  suddenly  wise ;  but  only  that  ambition  had  come  into 
her  consciousness.  The  blow  she  had  received  by  her 
father's  death  had  struck  deep  into  her  character.     She 


TOBY  25 

had  now  to  make  something  of  her  life,  or  starve.  With 
a  quick  circle  of  thought  she  imagined  her  mother  dead. 
What  would  happen  then  ?  What  chance  had  she  ?  Only 
vaguely  did  Sally  glimpse  the  possibilities.  She  knew  she 
could  not  keep  herself.  She  had  one  aunt — her  mother's 
sister — with  two  boy  children  who  were  both  younger 
than  Sally;  but  Aunt  Emmy  had  a  rough  time  herself,  and 
could  hardly  be  a  help.  Sally  saw  clearly  enough  that 
she  had  to  fight  alone.  Very  well,  if  she  had  to  fight  alone 
she  would  do  it,  and  fight  hard.  As  she  scowled,  it  be- 
came evident  that  Sally  would  in  this  fight  unscrupulously 
use  every  weapon  that  she  could  seize.  She  would  not 
shrink  from  anything  that  put  opportunity  into  her  head. 
She  was  already  hardened — a  kind  of  hardening  on  the 
surface,  or  in  strata,  which  left  curious  soft  places  in  her 
nature,  streaks  of  good  and  layers  and  patches  of  armour 
and  grit  and  callous  cruelty.  Above  all,  she  was  deter- 
mined upon  having  money.  Money  was  the  essential 
thing.  Money  meant  safety.  And  safety,  when  starva- 
tion threatens,  becomes  the  one  imperious  if  ignominious 
ideal.  Once  one  has  known  physical  hunger,  no  act  is 
inconceivable  as  a  means  of  averting  the  risk  of  a  similar 
experience. 

Thus  Sally's  thoughts  ran,  not  coherently  or  explicitly, 
but  in  vehement  revolts  and  resolves.  Thus  she  rumi- 
nated, while  Miss  Jubb  was  out  of  the  room  or  had  her 
attention  so  distracted  that  she  could  not  observe  an  idle 
apprentice.  WTien  Miss  Jubb  came  back  to  the  room  or 
to  supervision  work  had  a  little  to  be  hurried,  so  that  she 
might  not  find  occasion  for  complaint.  For  Miss  Jubb 
had  a  sharp  tongue,  and  although  she  took  the  pins  out 
of  her  mouth  before  she  talked  she  showed  that  they  had 
left  their  influence  upon  her  tongue,  which  was  sharp  to  a 
fault.  And  there,  across  the  room,  was  the  rosy-cheeked 
May  Pearcey,  so  silly,  so  incapable  of  more  than  momen- 


26  COQUETTE 

tary  resentment,  that  she  was  always  forgetting  that  Sally 
and  she  no  longer  spoke,  but  was  always  trying  to  encour- 
age Sally  into  a  return  to  their  former  relation.  Some- 
times Sally  would  glower  across  at  May,  bitterly  hating 
her  and  riddling  her  plumpness  and  folly  with  the  keen  eye 
of  malice.  May,  unconscious  of  the  scrutiny,  would  go  on 
with  her  work,  self-satisfied,  much  coarser  and  more 
physical  in  her  appetites  than  Sally,  still  in  spite  of  all  the 
rebuffs  she  had  received  grinning  about  her  boys  and  what 
they  had  said  and  what  they  had  meant.  .  .  . 

"Oo,  he  is  awful!"  she  would  burst  out  to  Sally.  "The 
things  he  said.    I  dint  half  blush." 

May  had  enjoyed  his  boldness,  it  seemed.  She  told 
Sally  what  he  had  said.  She  told  her  things  and  things 
in  the  irresistible  splurge  of  the  silly  girl  whose  mind  is 
full  of  adolescent  impurity.  Well,  Sally  knew  all  that. 
She  knew  all  the  things  that  boys  said;  and  a  few  more 
things  she  had  noticed  and  thought  for  herself.  She  was 
not  a  prude.  May  didn't  know  anything  that  Sally  did 
not  know;  but  she  talked  about  it.  Sally  did  not  talk. 
Her  sexual  knowledges,  so  far  as  they  went,  were  as  close 
and  searching  as  a  small-tooth  comb,  and  collected  as 
much  that  was  undesirable.  She  despised  May.  May  was 
a  fool.  She  was  soppy,  talking  about  all  these  things  as 
if  they  were  new  marvels,  when  they  were  as  old  as  the 
hills  and  as  old  as  the  crude  coquetries  of  boys  and  girls. 
May  was  the  soppiest  girl  in  Holloway.  Yet  the  boys 
liked  her  for  her  plump  face  and  arms  and  legs,  and  her 
red  cheeks,  and  her  self-conscious  laugh,  and  her  eyes  that 
held  guilt  and  evil  and  general  silliness  and  vanity.  The 
boys  liked  May.  They  did  not  like  Sally.  She  was  too 
small  and  sandy ;  too  obviously  critical  and  contemptuous 
in  face  of  their  small  stock  of  talk,  and  too  greedy  of 
their  poor  and  pompously-displayed  schemes  for  econom- 
ical entertainment.    Sally's  teeth  showed  like  the  teeth  of 


TOBY  2T 

a  cat,  very  small  and  sharp,  emblems  of  her  nature.  Con- 
ceit took  firmer  root  in  her  heart  because  of  her  contempt 
for  May  and  her  inevitable  suppressions  of  pain  and  re- 
sentment in  face  of  neglect,  as  well  as  her  suppressions  of 
knowledge  gained  by  a  mental  process  so  quick  that  May 
could  never  have  had  the  smallest  notion  of  it.  Sally  be- 
came secret,  and  her  determination  was  made  more  em- 
phatic. She  began  to  study  her  face,  and  her  body.  One 
day  her  mother  found  her  naked  in  front  of  a  mirror, 
twisting  herself  so  that  she  could  see  the  poise  of  her 
figure.  It  was  a  pretty  figure,  if  underdeveloped,  and 
from  that  time  of  thorough  examination  onwards  Sally 
never  had  the  smallest  doubt  of  her  own  attractiveness 
and  its  principal  constituents.  Only  her  face  was  wrong, 
she  felt  with  bitter  chagrin;  her  face  and  her  hair.  If  her 
face  were  fatter  and  less  freckled,  and  if  her  hair  were 
not  so  sandy  and  pale,  she  would  be  pretty.  Really 
pretty.  Pretty  enough  to  make  a  man  go  silly.  Well, 
such  things  could  be  cured,  couldn't  they?  Or,  if  not 
cured,  then  at  least  improved.  .  .  .  That  was  a  notion 
that  dwelt  constantly  in  Sally's  thoughts. 


The  point  was,  that  she  must  have  actual  experience  in 
rousing  men.  It  was  not  that  she  had  determined  upon 
marriage  as  a  way  out  of  her  present  difficulties.  At 
the  back  of  her  mind,  perhaps,  was  always  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  must  get  a  man  to  work  for  her;  but  this 
never  became  an  obsession.  She  was  simply  a  growing 
girl,  hungry  for  experience,  and  at  the  outset  hampered 
by  circimistance.  Unless  something  happened  to  her, 
Sally  was  doomed  to  poverty  and  suffering.  Therefore, 
full  of  raw  confidence,  she  was  determined  that  she 
should  be  the  heroine  of  her  own  romance.     Her  im- 


28  COQUETTE 

pulse  was  not  to  give,  but  to  take.  She  did  not  long 
to  be  the  loving  help  of  a  good  man,  but  was  ever  craft- 
ily bent  upon  exploiting  the  weaker  sides  of  those  she 
met  for  the  furtherance  of  her  own  ends. 

It  was  several  days  before  she  met  Toby  again;  but 
she  waited  with  a  kind  of  patience  wholly  in  keeping 
with  the  rest  of  her  nature.  She  always  expected  to 
meet  him  upon  the  stairs,  and  never  did  so.  In  the 
streets  she  looked  for  him.  Nights,  however,  were  dark, 
and  Toby  apparently  elusive.  But  one  evening  she  was 
running  down  the  three  steps  at  the  front  door  just  as 
he  arrived  home.  With  a  quick  breath  she  ventured  a 
"good  evening."  When  he  answered,  she  was  filled  with 
a  pleasure  which  she  would  have  found  it  hard  to  ex- 
plain. "Evening,"  said  Toby,  surlily,  and  passed  on. 
Sally  gave  a  small  grimace,  a  faint  jerk  of  the  head. 
That  was  done.  A  few  more  days  passed.  Still  in 
the  darkness  she  saw  him  a  third  time,  now  as  she 
closed  the  door  of  the  room,  while  Toby  hurried  to  the 
floor  above.  By  questions,  she  had  found  out  that  he 
lived  exactly  over  them,  and  that  his  aunt  had  the  room 
next  to  his,  in  the  front  of  the  house.  This  aunt  she 
never  saw,  as  she  was  very  exclusive,  and  did  not  as- 
sociate at  all  with  her  neighbours.  Toby's  surname  she 
could  not  learn;  but  his  aunt  was  called  Mrs.  Tapping. 
The  aunt  had  an  annuity.  Toby  worked  somewhere  in 
the  neighbourhood;  and  Sally  soon  discovered  the  times 
of  his  departure  and  return.  She  knew  these  so  well 
that  she  could  have  told  you  to  the  minute  when  his  foot 
might  be  expected  upon  the  stairs.  If  he  happened  to 
be  late  she  could  have  remarked  upon  it  to  her  mother, 
if  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  telling  her  mother  any- 
thing at  all. 

Later,  when  they  had  been  in  the  house  about  three 
weeks,  she  had  a  triumph.     She  was  going  out  one  eve- 


TOBY  29 

ning,  and  was  barely  down  the  first  two  or  three  stairs 
when  she  heard  him  running  behind  her.  He  was  forced 
to  pull  up,  and,  from  a  peep,  she  saw  that  he  was  still 
half  a  flight  above.  Their  progress  from  that  instant 
coincided.  They  reached  the  front  door  almost  at  the 
same  time.  She  left  it  open,  and  as  Toby  came  out 
she  turned  and  smiled  "good  evening."  He  replied. 
Sally  followed  with  "Beautiful,  isn't  it!"  and  then  went 
slowly  towards  Tollington  Park.  Would  he  follow? 
She  was  almost  breathless,  her  eyes  downcast,  her  ears 
strained.  He  did  not  follow.  Sally  frowned.  A  sneer 
came  to  her  lips.  Then  a  pensiveness  succeeded,  and 
resolve  became  fixed.  All  right;  he  did  not  follow.  He 
was  a  man.    All  the  more  worthy  of  her  address. 

Moreover,  she  had  noticed  him  more  clearly  than 
ever  before,  because  the  gas  in  the  hall  had  lighted  his 
face  as  she  turned  upon  the  threshold.  He  was  strong, 
and  she  adored  strength.  He  was  broad  and  muscular 
and  dark.  He  had  dark  eyes  under  heavy  brows.  His 
age  she  supposed  to  be  about  twenty  or  slightly  above. 
As  she  recollected  these  details  Sally's  face  became  in- 
scrutable. All  the  same,  her  walk  had  lost  its  savour, 
and  she  returned  home  earlier  than  usual.  How  miser- 
able it  was  that  she  had  no  other  girl  of  her  own  age  to 
go  about  with.  Boys  always  went  in  twos.  So  did 
girls.  The  one  gave  the  other  courage.  Yet  Sally  was 
done  with  May.  May  was  soppy.  She  did  not,  in 
thinking  this,  do  anything  but  envy  May;  but  all  the 
same  she  knew  that  Toby's  solitariness  matched  her  own. 
It  was  an  augury.  She  lay  awake  until  he  came  home, 
listening  to  her  mother  breathing;  and  then,  in  a  few 
minutes,  heard  eleven  o'clock  strike. 


50  COQUETTE 

vi 

The  next  time  this  happened,  and  they  met  so  definitely, 
Toby  looked  sharply  at  her.  Sally  did  nothing,  but 
paused  an  instant.  He  followed  her  with  his  eyes.  Then, 
he  stepped  to  her  side.  It  was  the  moment  and  Sally 
stopped  sharply,  shrinking  a  little  from  him. 

"Going  out  alone?"  Toby  said.  "Mind  if  I  come  too?" 
He  walked  beside  her.  'T  mean  .  .  .  live  in  the  same 
house." 

Oh,  he  had  plenty  of  assurance. 

"All  right;  you  can  come,"  Sally  vouchsafed.  She 
was  not  going  to  show  eagerness;  but  she  was  thrilling 
with  excitement.  She  moistened  her  lips,  her  nostrils 
pinched  and  her  eyes  suddenly  shrewd.  She  felt  her 
heart  beating  terribly  in  her  breast,  and  was  half  the 
calculating  victor  and  half  a  genuinely  shrinking  young 
girl  engaged  in  her  first  serious  exploit. 

For  a  few  moments  both  Toby  and  Sally  were  silent. 
Everything  depended  upon  the  establishment  of  some 
instant  connection  between  them,  for  otherwise  the 
nerve  of  both  might  fail,  and  a  fiasco  result.  Toby's 
step  hesitated,  as  though  he  was  beset  by  an  impulse  to 
leave  her.  Sally  shot  a  quick  glance.  He  was  wavering, 
and  must  be  held. 

"Nice  night,  isn't  it?"  she  remarked,  in  a  ladylike 
way. 

The  inclination  to  fly  was  checked.  Toby  remained  by 
Tier  side.  They  walked  together  about  the  streets  for  an 
hour,  he  smoking  cigarette  after  cheap  cigarette,  and 
«very  now  and  then  saying  something  that  was  nothing. 
He  was  not  a  good  talker.  He  could  not  express  him- 
self, but  said  "er"  between  words,  and  moved  his  hands. 
Partly  it  was  nervousness.  Sally  often  grinned  at  knowl- 
^ge  of  this  and  of  his  bad  way  of  speaking,  which 


TOBY  81 

made  him  sometimes  appear  almost  loutish.  But  behind 
every  roughness  there  lay  a  hidden  strength  that  she 
was  ready  to  worship.  She  walked  beside  him  with 
steps  quicker  than  his  own,  but  a  good  swing;  exulting 
in  their  power  to  walk  in  unison,  a  thin  little  figure  be-^ 
side  his  stoutness,  her  large  black  straw  hat  hiding  her 
every  expression  except  when  she  tilted  up  her  head  and. 
in  the  light  of  a  street  lamp  showed  a  tiny  white  face. 
Toby  slouched  along,  one  hand  sometimes  in  a  trouser 
pocket,  but  more  often  with  both  hands  in  restless 
motion.  She  could  hear  him :  "I  mean  to  say  .  .  .  these 
yobs  go  about  .  .  .  penn'orth  of  chocolates  and  a  drink 
at  the  fountain.  That's  all  the  dinner  they  get.  Wear 
a  tiddy  little  bowler  hat  and  never  brush  their  boots  .  .  . 
Office  boys,  they  are;  and  call  'emselves  junior  clurks^ 
And  what's  it  come  to?  I  mean  to  say  ...  I'd  rather 
work  with  my  hands,  like  a  man.  .  .  .  What's  the  mat- 
ter with  a  little  dirt?    Comes  ofif,  doesn't  it?" 

"Oo  .  .  .  yes  .  .  ."  sighed  Sally,  admiringly. 

At  last,  pursuing  this  theme,  Toby  told  her  an  anec- 
dote about  one  of  the  other  fellows  at  his  work.  Sally 
listened  with  a  breathless  interest  that  was  only  half- 
feigned.  She  wanted  him  to  think  she  understood. 
She  wanted  him  to  like  her.  She  even  wanted  to  sympa- 
thise. It  was  such  a  mixture  of  feelings  she  had — some 
good,  some  mischievous  and  deliberate.  All  her  vanities 
were  involved.  Her  nerves  were  taut  with  the  strain  of 
such  a  show  of  absorption,  while  her  mind  ran  on  at 
top  speed.  She  asked  pseudo-timid  questions,  just  ta 
show  her  interest  and  her  cleverness,  and  to  encourage 
Toby  to  keep  on  telling  her  things  that  threw  light  upon, 
himself  and  his  likes  and  dislikes.  She  walked  delicately, 
stifled  yawns,  interjected  "fancy"  and  "there"  as  if  she 
understood  all  he  said.     She  beguiled  him.     And  all  the 


82  COQUETTE 

time,  under  the  design,  her  heart  was  soft  towards  him, 
soft  and  admiring. 

They  walked  along  the  darkened  streets  at  a  slow 
pace,  and  the  passers  were  few.  Once  or  twice  they 
encountered  hushed  couples,  sometimes  laughing  groups. 
Always  Sally  glanced  stealthily,  and  summed  up  those 
whom  they  saw;  and  had  a  tail  glance  for  Toby.  He 
appeared  to  ignore  everything,  and  slouched  along  at  her 
side,  as  he  must  have  done  when  alone,  with  his  head 
lowered.  She  could  not  make  him  out.  In  some  ways 
he  was  so  self-confident,  in  others  so  much  as  though 
he  had  never  looked  at  a  girl  before.  Did  he  know 
girls?  Did  he  know  what  they  were  like?  What  a 
mystery — a  delicious  mystery!  He  wasn't  soppy,  yet 
he  hardly  looked  at  her.  Funny  .  .  .  funny!  So  she 
mused;  continuing  to  give  his  talk  quite  half  her  at- 
tention. 

At  last  ten  o'clock  struck,  and,  although  both  wanted 
to  stay  out  longer,  Sally  was  prudent  and  firm.  She 
said  "mother  would  wonder  what  had  happened,"  and 
laughed  a  little  in  her  excitement,  at  the  innuendo,  and 
in  encouraging  flattery.  "Must  go,"  she  added,  linger- 
ing. So  Toby  took  her  back  to  the  corner  of  their 
road,  it  being  a  strict  unspoken  covenant  that  they  should 
not  enter  the  house  together,  in  case  they  should  be  seen. 
There  was  no  handshake;  but  Sally  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  seeing  Toby  awkwardly  move  the  peak  of  his 
cap  in  parting.  That  was  ever  so  good,  she  thought. 
Her  hard  scrutiny  of  his  manner  found  as  yet  no  cause 
for  suspicion,  but  only  for  a  renewal  of  her  curiosity 
concerning  him.  Toby  showed  no  sign  of  any  feeling 
beyond  satisfaction  with  her,  and  this  was  an  irresistible 
flattery.    She  ran  in,  full  of  excitement. 


TOBY  33 

vii 

What  was  the  truth  about  him?  Sally's  thoughts  bit 
into  her  observation  with  intense  gusto.  She  turned 
and  twisted  all  her  impressions  during  a  couple  of  wake- 
ful hours;  and  she  remained  full  of  glee.  What  a  piece 
of  luck.  Toby!  Toby,  Toby,  Toby!  How  quickly  her 
mind  worked !  It  was  like  acid,  testing  and  comparing ; 
and  yet  its  action  was  soft  and  caressing  when  she  re- 
membered his  figure  and  his  voice — some  of  the  little 
gestures,  some  turns  of  speech,  his  sturdy  contempt  for 
what  he  called  "yc>t>s,"  which  she  discovered  to  be  the 
word  "boys"  spelt  in  an  unfamiliar  way.  Those  were 
the  things  she  loved.  The  rest  she  had  exploited.  The 
mixture  of  pleasure  and  tactics  filled  her  with  delicious 
dread  and  hunger. 

When  the  following  evening  came,  Sally  deliberately 
waited  until  she  heard  Toby  go  out.  Only  after  a  delay 
of  five  minutes  did  she  put  on  her  hat  and  coat  in 
opposition  to  her  mother's  command.  What  was  mother  ? 
There  was  a  faint  flush  on  Sally's  cheeks,  and  a  new 
sparkle  in  her  eyes.  She  was  engaged  upon  an  ad- 
venture. She  dallied  as  she  went  down  the  stairs.  At 
the  door  she  checked  herself  once  more.  What  if  he 
were  not  there?  To  herself  she  said  that  she  would  not 
mind ;  but  that  was  a  lie  which  she  told  to  her  wits.  Her 
heart  gave  a  different  message. 

How  dark  it  was!  At  first  Sally  could  see  nothing. 
The  moon,  if  there  was  one,  hid  itself  behind  black 
clouds.  Only  specks  of  light  came  from  street  lamps 
and  between  the  slats  of  Venetian  blinds.  A  wind  hustled 
about,  blowing  up  for  rain,  and  uncomfortably  draughty. 
As  Sally  stood  on  the  step  the  door  slammed  behind 
her,  and  she  heard  a  rattling  run  all  through  the  house, 
a  banging  of  other  doors  and  trembling  of  window-panes. 


84  COQUETTE 

And  then,  as  she  lowered  her  head  to  meet  the  dusty- 
breeze,  she  felt  Toby  beside  her,  at  her  elbow,  expect- 
ant. Sally  gave  a  start  and  a  cry,  for  he  had  been  so 
silent  in  the  midst  of  all  these  alarms  as  to  come  un- 
expectedly. 

"How  you  startled  me!"  she  exclaimed  coquettishly. 
"Thought  you'd  gone  out  long  ago !" 

Toby  gave  a  sort  of  half-confused  laughing  grunt. 

"Hours  ago  I  went  out,"  he  said,  very  close  to  her, 
deliciously  bold. 

"Didn't  think  you'd  remember  ...  I  didn't  say  I'd 
come  .  .  .  Have  you  been  waiting?"  Sally  sounded 
very  nearly  affected  in  her  unplanned  speech.  Toby 
answered  with  a  sort  of  off-hand  nonchalance. 

"Only  a  minute.  That's  all  right.  I  was  afraid  you 
weren't  coming."  Afraid!  What  a  lovely  word!  He 
continued,  with  his  hand  quickly  at  her  elbow:  "Shall 
we  go  round  Fairmead?" 

When  he  spoke  as  he  was  doing  now,  Toby's  rough 
voice  dropped  to  a  low  note  that  he  believed  to  be 
gentle.  It  was  in  fact  still  vibrant ;  but  Sally  liked  every- 
thing about  his  tone  and  his  manner.  It  made  her  feel 
that  he  was  a  man;  and  manliness  was  everything  to 
her.  She  longed  while  she  was  with  him  to  meet  May 
...  to  show  her  ...  It  would  have  given  Sally  fierce 
joy.  For  the  rest,  she  was  content.  He  was  by  her  side. 
Their  arms  touched  from  time  to  time.  When  the  wind 
blew  extra  strong,  she  clutched  him,  and  they  stood  to- 
gether to  resist  the  onset.  And  at  every  touch  Sally  had 
fresh  sense  of  strength  and  adventure. 

"What  you  been  doing  today?"  she  asked,  as  talk 
flagged.  He  told  her.  He  told  her  a  great  deal  more 
about  himself,  and  about  his  aunt.  He  had  had  the 
most  marvellous  adventures.  Sally  could  not  believe 
them  all;  but  she  was  charmed  by  the  narrative.     Toby 


TOBY  86 

talked  more  freely.  He  hesitated  less,  and  was  more 
confident.  Sally  felt  sure  he  must  have  known  other 
girls.  You  didn't  talk  like  that  if  you  were  new  to  it. 
She  was  again  curious.  Once  she  almost  blurted  out  the 
question;  but  she  stayed  the  words  in  time.  It  would 
have  been  a  mistake  to  ask  anything  at  this  stage.  It 
would  have  seemed  possessive.  It  might  have  alarmed 
him.  Anyway,  she  thought,  if  he  has,  what  does  that 
matter?  To  her  it  was  an  added  pleasure,  that  he  might 
be  wise  and  experienced.  It  was  a  greater  flattery;  it 
called  for  greater  resource  in  herself. 

Once,  when  they  had  stopped  and  Sally  had  stood 
close  to  him  so  that  he  might  light  a  fresh  cigarette  under 
the  shelter  of  her  body,  Toby  blew  forth  a  puff  of  smoke 
and  put  his  arm  round  her.  Very  coolly  did  Sally  free 
herself,  perfectly  mistress  of  the  situation;  but  she  liked 
him  the  better  for  his  boldness.  It  was  the  sort  of 
thing  she  had  df earned — a  lover  who  was  ardent,  a 
lover  who  had  to  be  repelled,  so  that  the  delight  of  ulti- 
mate surrender  should  be  fully  savoured.  Was  he  a 
lover  ?  Sally  shivered.  The  attempt  and  the  rebuff  made 
them  more  intimate,  as  though  an  understanding  had 
been  reached  between  them.  They  walked  along  elbow 
to  elbow,  at  first  silent,  and  then  talking  freely,  both 
in  good-humor  and  with  continued  interest.  In  the 
safe  darkness  Sally's  eyes  glistened.  The  very  faintest 
smile  made  her  mouth  enigmatic.  Already  she  carried 
herself  with  fresh  assurance.  She  was  conscious  of 
her  power,  and  altogether  resolved  to  maintain  it  by 
prudence. 

viii 

All  this  time  Toby  had  never  seen  Sally  in  daylight. 
He  had  seen  her  in  a  glimpse  under  the  flickering  hall 
gas,  and  again  from  time  to  time  in  the  shine  of  street 


36  COQUETTE 

lamps;  but  he  had  never  once  been  with  her  in  daylight. 
She  herself  was  conscious  of  this,  at  first  accidental,  but 
now  deliberate,  mystification;  and  she  dreaded  the  dis- 
closure that  was  bound  to  come.  It  was  not,  she  knew, 
that  she  was  ugly;  but  only  that  to  a  man  like  Toby 
her  small  face  and  sandy  hair  might  mark  her  down  and 
ruin  everything.  She  feared  to  notice  a  change  in  him, 
a  change  from  their  present  and  increasingly  confidential 
relation  to  an  indifference,  a  contempt,  which  she  might 
find  unbearable.  The  feeling  was  acute.  It  was  not 
solely  due  to  dependence  upon  Toby,  but  was  a  part  of 
her  long-suffered  self-disparagement  and  a  fear,  almost 
fatalistic,  that  she  could  never  keep  a  man's  interest. 
The  fear  grew  more  intense  as  she  fell  into  the  bitter- 
sweets  of  a  lover's  doubtings.  The  day  must  come,  and 
then  what  would  happen?  She  longed  to  twine  herself 
into  his  life  before  he  could  see  her  clearly.  Perhaps 
then  he  would  not  notice?  Perhaps  even  now  he  knew, 
and  did  not  mind? 

That  was  one  mood.  Another  was  a  recognition  of 
her  own  piquancy.  In  this  stronger  mood,  she  concen- 
trated upon  her  own  prettiness,  the  slimness  of  her  body, 
her  power  to  please  him.  But  the  confidence  did  not  last, 
because  he  had  become  a  necessity  to  her.  Having  half- 
determined  to  snare  him,  Sally  was  herself  snared  by 
the  gins  of  love.  She  was  hard,  but  she  was  soft.  She 
was  cold,  but  she  was  warm.  And  as  each  day  she 
used  the  sewing  machine  or  roughly  stitched  the  raw 
material  for  Miss  Jubb's  costumes,  Sally  always  looked 
to  the  nights.  When  it  rained,  and  she  had  to  stay  in- 
doors, she  chafed  irritably  and  went  early  to  bed.  When 
she  met  Toby  she  was  full  of  unwonted  high  spirits. 
For  a  long  time  she  did  not  know  what  had  happened 
to  her.    Then  at  last  the  truth  flashed  out  one  morning 


TOBY  37 

as  she  lay  In  bed,  and  with  a  Httle  laughing  sound  Sally 
knew  that  she  was  in  love. 

She  was  in  love.  And  Toby,  how  did  he  feel?  A 
new  stage  had;  been  reached,  when  her  caution  was 
directed  to  an  altogether  different  end.  She  did  not  now 
seek  so  coolly  to  play  with  his  inclinations.  She  had 
great  need  for  care  lest  she  should  betray  her  own  secret. 
The  occasional  contacts  with  him  had  become  an  eager 
need,  and  must  be  checked  so  as  to  make  them  appear 
as  accidental  as  they  were  deliberate.  Sally  was  not 
withholding  from  coquetry,  but  from  dread  lest  she 
should  give  herself  away  and  show  herself  over-willing. 
She  noticed  everything  he  did,  without  watchful  scrutiny, 
and  with  the  merest  quickness  of  her  caressing  glance. 
She  loved  everything  in  him,  his  speech  and  his  move- 
ments, his  strength,  his  stubbornness,  his  rough  carriage 
and  silence.  She  loved  him.  She  feared  him.  She  did 
not  dare  to  risk  losing  him.  Above  all,  she  longed  to 
be  in  Toby's  arms,  to  be  desired  by  him. 

Once,  when  she  was  examining  her  face  in  the  mirror, 
and  trying  to  imagine  just  how  pretty  Toby  might  be 
made  to  think  her,  Sally  lost  her  nerve.  She  was  tear- 
ful all  that  day,  tearful  and  speechless,  so  that  a  rebuke 
from  Miss  Jubb  brought  about  a  real  fit  of  crying.  Miss 
Jubb,  astounded  at  such  a  collapse,  instantly  abandoned 
blame  and  showed  true  kindness  of  heart,  while  May 
Pearcey  looked  on  with  round  saucer  eyes  above  her 
round  apple  cheeks.  And  Sally  went  home  early,  ashamed 
of  herself,  once  more  irritable  to  viciousness,  and  spent 
the  time  before  her  mother's  return  lying  upon  the  bed 
and  trying  to  sleep.  There  was  no  walk  that  night. 
Toby  went  out  as  usual,  and  even  ventured  a  whistle 
when  she  did  not  come;  but  Sally  remained  indoors. 
She  did  not,  indeed,  hear  the  whistle,  as  she  was  at 
the  back  of  the  house;  but  she  knew  he  was  waiting.    She 


38  COQUETTE 

dared  not  go.  In  half  an  hour  she  heard  Toby  return, 
and  go  tramping  indignantly  up  to  his  room  directly 
above.  The  sound  made  her  cry  more  than  ever,  but 
very  quietly,  in  case  her  mother  should  hear  and  awaken. 

The  next  night  was  even  more  wretched,  for  Toby 
went  out  and  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  when  Sally  fol- 
lowed him.  She  walked  fruitlessly  in  the  directions  they 
had  taken  upon  previous  evenings,  and  came  back  dis- 
consolate and  exhausted.  Pale  and  ill,  Sally  could  not 
sleep.  She  had  been  living  poorly,  and  her  spirit  was 
low.  The  future  was  dismal.  Toby  must  have  thrown 
her  over.  It  was  in  vain  that  her  wits  consoled  her 
with  the  certainty  that  he  must  have  missed  her,  that 
a  boy  who  did  not  care  about  her  would  never  have 
shown  such  surly  pique  as  his.  So  great  had  her  love 
become  that  she  could  not  listen  to  such  reassurance. 
Only  the  worst  was  convincing  enough  for  her  misery. 
He  was  gone.  He  was  done  with  her.  She  had  lost 
him.  No  wonder  then  when  she  was  alone  Sally's  eyes 
filled  with  weak  tears. 

Fortunately  enough  the  next  day  was  a  Saturday, 
and  she  was  able  to  go  alone  up  to  Waterlow  Park, 
on  Highgate  Hill,  She  walked  up  the  Holloway  Road 
alone,  and  saw  the  autumn  sun  flashing  upon  the  cross 
which  stands  erect  above  St.  Joseph's  dome.  The  air 
was  already  murky  with  the  heaviness  of  the  season. 
Leaves  lay  upon  the  ground  and  in  the  pathways.  The 
cable-cars  grunted  and  groaned  upon  the  hill,  and  the 
Park  looked  bleak  in  the  daylight.  But  the  exercise  did 
Sally  good,  and  she  saw  other  people,  and  watched  some 
children  playing  touch  until  the  Park  bell  rang  to 
show  that  the  gates  were  going  to  be  closed.  Even  then 
she  lingered,  watching  the  moving  figures  and  noticing 
the  greenness  of  the  grass  under  the  shrivelling  leaves. 

From  that  walk  she  returned  more  healthy  and  in 


TOBY  39 

better  spirits.  She  determined  to  go  out  marketing  with 
her  mother  in  the  evening,  and  walked  back  past  the 
flaring  lamps,  at  which  women  were  already  crowding, 
with  her  head  in  the  air  and  her  courage  high.  She 
almost  forgot  Toby  while  she  was  bathed  in  this  fluster- 
ing brilliance  of  light  and  noise.  Only  far  below,  in 
her  heart,  continued  that  inexhaustible  consciousness  of 
her  love.  Even  in  this  temporary  oblivion  she  shivered 
as  she  came  to  the  darker  part  of  the  road. 

Sally  was  once  again  among  shops ;  and  then  she  went 
down  a  side  road.  And  her  heart  was  beating  rather 
fast  as  she  approached  the  house,  in  case  Toby  should 
meet  her.  It  was  with  a  mingled  relief  and  chagrin 
that  she  reached  the  house  alone.  She  was  inside  the 
door  now,  and  the  woman  on  the  ground  floor  was 
just  standing  on  a  chair  to  hght  the  gas.  Sally  had 
to  wait  for  a  minute  until  she  plunged  heavily  down 
and  dragged  the  chair  aside. 

"Oh,"  said  the  woman.  "There's  a  letter  for  you.  It's 
just  come.    This  minute." 

It  was  not  often  that  Sally  had  a  letter.  Had  Toby 
written  to  her?  She  pounced  upon  the  envelope.  Fancy 
his  doing  that !  Oh,  no.  It  was  only  from  Aunt  Emmy, 
at  Brixton.  Well,  perhaps  Aunt  Emmy  knew  somebody 
in  the  West  End.    What  could  she  have  written  about  ? 

"Is  mother  in,  d'you  know?"  Sally  asked  the  woman. 

"I  fancy  .  .  .  yes,  I  fancy  she  just  went  out.  Shop- 
pin',  I  expect.  It's  a  nice  evening.  You  know,  what 
I  call  crisp.  Not  that  sort  of  muggy  .  .  .  ugh  .  .  .'* 
She  gave  a  great  shudder,  as  the  man  in  the  fairy  tale 
did  when  his  wife  poured  gudgeon  upon  him  while  he 
slept. 

Sally,  threatened  with  a  lengthy  conversation,  made 
for  the  stairs.  She  reached  their  room,  which  was  lighted ; 
and  so  she  knew  that  her  mother  would  not  be  long. 


40  COQUETTE 

A  kettle  was  singing  on  a  small  fire  of  coal  blocks,  and 
the  teapot  was  laid  to  warm.  Sally  looked  round  the 
room,  guessed  that  her  mother  had  gone  out  for  tea 
or  sugar,  and  tore  open  her  letter.  In  ugly  crude  writ- 
ing she  read  the  kind  words  Aunt  Emmy  had  sent. 

"Dear  Sally.  How  are  you  and  your  mother?  She 
takes  no  notice  when  I  write  to  her,  so  perhaps  I'd  bet- 
ter start  writing  to  you.  Such  news  I've  got.  I've  won 
thirty-five  pounds  in  a  competition.  I  don't  know  how 
I  did  it  any  more  than  you  do.  Anyway,  Sally,  I  don't 
want  to  forget  my  little  niece,  and  so  here's  a  little  some- 
thing for  you.  I'm  giving  the  boys  some,  and  buying 
a  new  dress,  and  then  I'm  going  to  bank  the  rest  against 
a  rainy  day.  Waste  not,  want  not,  you  know.  Don't  tell 
mummy  I've  sent  you  anything,  but  spend  it  on  yourself, 
love.  Get  a  bit  of  something  nice.  Your  affectionate 
Aunt  Emmy." 

Enclosed  was  a  postal-order  for  a  pound.  Sally's  heart 
seemed  to  stop  beating  for  an  instant.  She  looked  again 
at  the  postal-order,  and  with  a  sharp  movement  put  it 
inside  her  blouse.  Then  she  put  the  letter  in  the  fire,  and 
watched  it  flame  and  blacken  and  flick  to  pieces  in  the 
draught.  Slowly,  thinking  with  all  her  might,  she  took 
off  her  out-of-doors  jacket  and  hung  it  up.  A  pound! 
She  was  rich!  With  a  pound  you  could  do  a  lot.  You 
could  .  .  .  you  could  buy  material  for  a  frock.  You 
could  buy  underclothes,  stockings,  shoes.  Not  all  of 
them,  but  what  you  wanted.  Or  you  could  buy  a  hat 
and  sweets  and  scent  and  .  .  .  oh,  lots  of  things!  A 
whole  pound  to  spend !  Slowly,  slowly  came  Sally's  mind 
round  to  something  from  which  it  instantly  darted  away. 
It  crept  back  again.     It  seized  upon  her  will.     With  a 


TOBY  41 

pound  you  could  .  .  .  you  could  make  your  hair  look 
nice,  and  your  face  .  .  . 

After  the  resolve,  Sally  was  quite  cool.  She  turned  to 
greet  her  mother  with  entire  self-possession.  But  her 
ears  were  strained,  because  overhead  she  heard  a  heavy 
footstep. 

ix 

The  thing  determined,  Sally  was  faced  with  a  great 
difficulty.  She  did  not  know  how  to  do  things.  She 
had  to  find  out.  You  couldn't  make  a  fool  of  yourself 
and  ask  at  a  shop.  She  had  talked  to  May  once  or 
twice  about  .  .  .  making  your  hair  look  nice  .  .  .  well, 
dyeing  it,  if  you  wanted  to  know;  and  May  could  only 
show  her  advertisements  clipped  from  the  Sunday  paper. 
She  had  not  kept  those  advertisements :  she  had  not  liked 
the  look  of  them.  Mother  wouldn't  know.  She  must  do 
it  at  once.  A  bold  plan  had  come  into  her  mind.  She 
was  near  the  end  of  her  second  year  with  Miss  Jubb. 
She  could  go  into  the  West  End  if  only  she  looked 
nice  enough.  If  she  could  do  it  tonight  or  tomor- 
row she  could  meet  May  Pearcey  first  thing  on  Mon- 
day morning,  get  her  to  tell  Miss  Jubb  Sally  was  ill, 
and  perhaps  go  after  some  situation  during  the  day. 
What  a  game !  But  how  was  she  to  get  the  stuff  ?  That 
was  the  difficulty.  No,  it  was  the  easiest  thing  of  all.  Mrs. 
Perce !  Mrs.  Perce  used  peroxide,  because  she  had  once 
been  a  barmaid.  But  that  meant  a  long  time.  Sally  must 
have  something  quick  in  its  action.  Mrs.  Perce  would 
know.  Mrs.  Perce  knew  everything  of  that  kind.  The 
notion  of  going  shopping  with  her  mother  was  abandoned. 
She  had  more  important  things  to  do.  She  would  go 
and  see  Mrs.  Perce  immediately  after  tea.  Then,  while 
old  Perce  was  playing  the  piano,  she  would  get  to  know 
everything.       Sally     became     wildly     animated.       She 


42  COQUETTE 

glimpsed  the  future.  Transformed,  she  would  conquer. 
Toby  would  be  won.  She  would  be  in  the  West  End. 
A  whole  new  vista  opened  before  her,  glittering  with 
promise.  Never  had  she  been  so  excited,  even  when  Toby 
first  spoke  to  her. 

Mrs.  Minto  wearily  threw  off  her  dingy  cloak  and 
raked  the  fire,  so  that  the  kettle  began  to  boil.  She 
looked  in  a  lethargic  way  at  Sally,  as  a  cat  looks  at  a 
stranger  in  whom  it  is  not  at  all  interested;  and  then 
mechanically  took  down  the  tea-caddy  from  the  mantel- 
piece. As  she  stooped  over  the  kettle  there  seemed  to  be 
cramp  in  all  her  limbs.  The  little  bell-pull  of  hair  was 
smaller  than  ever,  and  the  hair  itself  was  more  grey. 
Her  whole  bearing  expressed  a  lifeless  dejection.  Pant- 
ing faintly  as  the  result  of  her  late  posture,  Mrs.  Minto 
brought  the  teapot  to  the  spotless  table,  and  clumsily 
touched  the  teacups  and  spoons  so  that  they  jarred  upon 
Sally's  nerves.  Everything  her  mother  did  now  annoyed 
Sally.  The  slow  motions,  the  awkward  way  in  which 
her  fingers  turned  to  thumbs,  the  shortsightedness  that 
made  her  unable  to  thread  a  needle  or  read  a  paper 
except  through  an  old  magnifying  glass,  the  general  air 
of  debility  and  discouragement.  Sally  felt  furious  with 
her  all  the  time — "Old  fool  .  .  .  old  fool!"  she  would 
frantically  murmur  to  herself;  and  then  would  fall 
again  into  despair  at  her  own  sensation  of  frustrate 
youth.  She  had  lost  love  for  her  mother,  had  no  pity 
to  give  in  its  place;  and  only  awoke  in  these  moments 
of  dreadful  exasperation  to  the  sense  that  she  was  still 
dependent  upon  Mrs.  Minto  for  her  existence.  During 
this  teatime,  while  her  mother  mutely  ate  bread  and 
margarine,  Sally  was  away  in  the  clouds,  dreaming  of 
all  that  her  windfall  was  to  produce.  It  was  to  pro- 
duce beauty,  opportunity,  happiness.  So  much  for  a 
pound  to  do!     Sally  was  so  impatient  to  call  on  Mrs. 


TOBY  43 

Perce  that  she  could  hardly  eat  anything  or  drink  her 
tea. 

"You  are  worritting  and  fidgetting,  Sally,"  cried  Mrs. 
Minto,  peevishly.  "Sit  still,  there's  a  good  girl.  I  don't 
know  what's  come  to  my  'ead.  It  feels  all  funny  inside, 
and  if  I  put  my  hand  there  it's  like  I.  got  a  bruise.  And 
yet  I  don't  remember  knockin'  myself  anywheres,  and 
I  can't  understand  it  at  all,  because  it's  not  as  if  I'd 
taken  anything  to  disagree  with  me;  and  yet  there  it  is, 
a  nasty  pain  all  inside  my  'ead  and  a  feeling  as  though 
I'd  got  a  bruise  on  the  outside.  I  was  telling  Mrs.  .  .  . 
oh,  dear,  what  is  her  name?  .  .  .  Mrs.  .  .  .  Roberson 
about  it,  and  she  said  that's  what  her  'usband  used  to 
suffer  from,  and  .  .  .  he  took  .  .  ." 

Sally  ignored  the  rest  of  the  speech.  Her  mother 
rambled  on;  and  Sally  looked  at  the  clock.  She'd  get  to 
Hornsey  Road  about  six.  That  would  be  time  enough. 
There  would  be  the  Clancy  kids  playing  in  the  doorway, 
so  she  would  go  straight  upstairs  to  Mrs.  Perce;  and 
she  would  say  .  .  . 

Self-absorbed,  both  went  mechanically  on  with  the  un- 
appetising meal.  Upstairs  Toby  walked  once  more  into 
his  own  room ;  and  then  came  running  heavily  down  the 
stairs  and  past  their  door  and  then  right  down  to  the 
street.  Sally's  heart  was  in  a  flutter,  and  her  eyes  flew 
once  again  to  the  clock.  It  was  so  early  for  Toby  to 
be  going  out.  She  would  not  see  him,  then.  She  would 
not  see  him,  and  all  her  excitement  was  gone  like  an 
exploded  toy  balloon.  The  heart  was  taken  out  of  her 
enterprise.  He  was  going  out:  he  did  not  want  her: 
he  was  finished  wfth  her.  Sally  could  not  repress  the 
single  sob  that  rose  to  her  lips. 

".  .  .  so  I  asked  Mr.  Flack  if  they'd  ever  kep'  it,  and 
he  said  no,  they  never  had,  and  told  me  to  try  at  Boots's, 
down  by  the  Nag's  Head  .  .  ,'* 


44  COQUETTE 

"Oh,  mother/'  cried  Sally,  beside  herself.  "Do  shut  up 
about  your  head.  It  gives  me  the  hump."  Then,  as  she 
became  aware  of  what  she  had  said,  she  defensively 
proceeded,  "Well,  you  keep  on  talking  about  it,  and 
it  doesn't  do  any  good  to  talk  about  it.  If  you  want  to 
know,  I'm  ill  myself.  I've  got  a  headache,  and  I've  got 
the  rats  .  .  ." 

"You  got  no  call  to  speak  to  your  mother  that  way," 
said  Mrs.  Minto.  ,  "If  I'd  a  spoke  to  wy  mother  like  that, 
I  should  have  got  the  strap.  So  mind  that,  Sally.  It's 
not  nice.  I've  noticed  you  getting  very  unmannerly 
and  out  of  hand  lately.  Very  rude.  I  don't  know  what 
to  do  with  you,  you're  so  rude.  It's  not  right,  and  it 
worries  me  so  that  I  can't  think  what  I'm  doing.  I  was 
talking  about  it  the  other  day  to  Mrs.  Roberson,  and 
she  says  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  ma,"  said  Sally,  rising,  and  going  to  the  door 
to  take  her  hat  down  from  the  peg.  "She  seems  to  have 
got  a  lot  to  say.  Doesn't  seem  to  be  much  sense  in 
what  she  says." 

"Now,  you're  not  to  .  .  ."  By  this  time  Sally  had 
one  sleeve  on  and  was  feeling  for  the  other.  In  a  glance 
at  her  little  peaked  determined  face,  and  obstinate  mouth, 
Mrs.  Minto's  spirit  suddenly  failed.  Where  she  had 
meant  to  be  maternally  peremptory  she  became  quer- 
ulous. "Wherever  you  going  now?"  she  asked  weakly. 
"Oh,  you  are  a  naughty  wilful  girl." 

"Out,"  said  Sally,  bluntly.  Unheeding  the  outcry  that 
followed,  she  was  out  of  the  door  and  down  the  stairs 
before  her  mother  could  check  her;  and  with  a  new  ugly 
sense  of  revolt  was  on  her  way  to*  see  Mrs.  Perce  in 
a  mood  of  reckless  despair.  Left  alone,  Mrs.  Minto 
washed  feebly  up,  and  sighingly  dried  the  cups  and 
plates  and  rearranged  them  in  the  cupboard.  Presently 
she   sat   in  a   limp   curve   over   the   fire,   in  a  kind   of 


TOBY  45 

stupor,  dreaming  of  she  knew  not  what.  Every  now 
and  then  she  would  give  a  jerk  in  anger  at  Sally's  rude- 
ness and  recently  uncontrollable  highhandedness,  which 
recurred  to  her  attention  whenever  her  thoughts  touched 
reality.  For  the  rest  she  sat  motionless,  until  the  coal- 
blocks  subsided  and  the  fire  went  black. 


Out  In  the  dark  streets,  Sally  was  as  if  enveloped. 
First  she  looked  this  way  and  that  for  Toby;  but  he 
was  gone.  A  wave  of  hysteria  passed  over  her.  She 
hated  him.  She  hated  him  for  such  loutish  cruelty.  He 
didn't  care.  And  because  he  did  not  care,  although  she 
tried  to  feel  indifferent,  she  loved  him  the  more.  Blindly 
she  walked  away  from  the  house,  and  heard  the  trams 
grinding,  and  the  rattle  of  carts  over  the  rough  paving. 
Holloway  Road  at  this  point  is  at  its  worst — dull  and 
ugly,  with  an  air  of  third-rate  respectable  indigence.  She 
crossed  the  road,  and  passed  into  a  squalid  thoroughfare 
called  Grove  Road,  and  marched  past  the  ugly  houses 
with  her  head  in  the  air,  pretending  that  she  had  no 
interest  whatever  in  Toby.  All  her  thoughts  were  busy 
inventing  indifference ;  and  her  consciousness  was  at  each 
turn  confusing  and  contradicting  her  thoughts.  If  soli- 
tude had  been  possible  to  her,  Sally  would  have  cried ;  but 
as  a  rule  she  cried  very  little,  both  because  she  was  rarely 
alone  and  because  she  was  not  naturally  hysterical. 
Fighting,  therefore,  against  what  she  felt  to  be  weak- 
ness, she  proceeded  on  her  way,  trying  to  laugh  at  rival 
butchers  shouting  insults  and  challenges  across  the 
street.  At  the  post  office  near  her  old  home  she  changed 
her  open  postal-order,  and  was  given  a  half-sovereign 
and  ten  shillings-worth  of  silver.    This  money  she  care- 


46  COQUETTE 

fully  put,  in  paper,  inside  her  blouse.  She  was  then 
ready  for  her  interview. 

At  the  old  address  new  tenants  already  occupied  the 
first  floor  flat,  and  Mr.  Clancy  stood  at  the  gate  smoking 
his  pipe.  The  man  who  lived  in  the  ground  floor  flat 
next  door  still  showed  his  glass-covered  sign  "Why  Pay 
Rent?"  Children  littered  the  few  inches  of  asphalt 
which  served  as  front  garden  to  the  two  houses.  Seeing 
Sally,  Mr.  Clancy  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  spat, 
and  nodded  at  her  in  a  friendly  way. 

"Hello,  Sally.    Keepin' well?    Look  fine." 

"I've  come  to  see  Mrs.  Perce — Mrs.  Barrow,  you 
know." 

Mr.  Clancy  jerked  his  head,  receptive  of  the  news,  and 
as  Sally  passed  him  continued  to  smoke  and  to  regard  the 
traffic.  He  must  have  been  bitterly  cold,  she  thought; 
but  she  knew  he  must  be  standing  outside  either  be- 
cause Mrs.  Clancy  was  out  or  because  she  was  in.  The 
stairs  were  just  as  steep  as  of  old,  and  as  dark.  Sally 
had  absolutely  no  memory  of  her  father's  fall.  She  was 
merely  curious  about  the  new  people  in  the  flat.  But  she 
did  not  see  them,  for  all  the  doors  were  closed,  and  she 
kicked  her  feet  against  the  stairs,  stumbling  a  little  in 
the  darkness. 

At  her  further  progress  a  door  flew  open  above,  and 
Mrs.  Perce  looked  out. 

"Sally!  Well  I  never!"  she  ejaculated.  "Perce!  Here's 
Sally  come  to  see  you!"  Perce's  reply  did  not  reach 
Sally,  but  there  was  an  exchanged  kiss  with  Mrs.  Perce, 
and  then  her  coat  and  hat  were  off  and  she  was  con- 
scious of  overpowering  warmth  and  kippers  and  a  gen- 
eral sizzle  of  comfort  and  plenty.  "Had  your  tea?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Perce.  "Have  another.  Come  on.  Plenty 
of  kippers.     Perce!     Sally's  eating  your  kippers!" 

Perce  appeared,  rubbing  the  back  of  his  neck  with  a 


TOBY  47 

towel — a  large  fair  red-faced  man  with  a  broad  grin. 
He  put  his  hand  on  Sally's  shoulder,  and  shook  her. 
Then  he  went  out  of  the  room  again,  and  Sally  began 
almost  immediately  upon  the  feast.  It  was  such  a  jolly, 
cosy,  close  room,  so  bright  and  gaudy  in  its  decoration, 
that  it  was  Sally's  idea  of  what  a  kitchen  should  be. 
The  walls  were  a  varnished  brown,  so  that  they  shone 
in  the  lamplight.  Polished  candlesticks  stood  by  a  shiny 
clock  on  the  mantelpiece.  There  were  bright  pictures  and 
a  brilliant  lamp  and  a  glittering  tablecloth  covered  with 
polished  dishes  and  silver.  She  had  a  great  admira- 
tion for  old  Perce  and  Mrs.  Perce.  They  both  loved 
comfort  and  food  and  drink,  and  both  had  hearty  laughs 
that  showed  all  their  teeth.  Both  had  shrewd,  glistening, 
money-engrossed  eyes;  both  were  large  and  stout  and 
cheerful  and  noisy.  To  anybody  as  young  as  Sally  noise 
goes  a  long  way  towards  cheeriness,  because  it  deadens 
thought.  So  when  old  Perce  came  and  took  his  place 
at  the  table  she  suddenly  threw  off  her  despair  with  the 
volatility  of  childhood,  and  laughed  aloud  and  ate  and 
drank,  and  made  sly  remarks,  until  she  became  an  al- 
together different  Sally  from  the  one  who  had  taken 
an  earlier  tea  with  her  mother.  She  was  now  in  high 
spirits.  All  sorts  of  funny  things  came  into  her  head — 
things  she  had  seen  and  thought  since  their  last  meet- 
ing; and  when  she  repeated  them  the  Barrows  laughed 
in  great  roars  that  filled  her  with  conceited  exultation. 
It  was  so  long  since  she  had  laughed.  It  was  so  long 
since  she  had  fed  properly.  This  was  like  a  dream,  a 
riotous  dream  of  noise  and  colour.  She  looked  from 
old  Perce's  red  face  to  Mrs.  Perce's  almost  equally  florid 
cheeks,  her  eyes  travelling  like  dragon-flies,  as  bright 
and  eager  as  possible. 

And  all 'the  time  she  was  taking  in  Mrs,  Perce's  ap- 
pearance.   Mrs.  Perce  wore  a  black  silk  dress,  very  plain. 


48  COQUETTE 

but  well-cut.  She  had  a  gold  brooch  at  her  throat,  and 
a  thin  gold  chain  round  her  neck.  Her  hair  was  abun- 
dant, and  was  dressed  in  a  great  blob  upon  the  top  of  her 
head.  It  was  a  noticeable  colour,  fair  and  startling.  She 
did  not  decorate  her  eyebrows  and  eyelashes,  which  were 
darker  than  her  hair.  And  she  wore  high  corsets,  be- 
cause her  bosom,  although  firm,  was  inclined  to  be  over- 
flowing. The  bodice  of  her  dress  fitted  closely  and  em- 
phasised what  was  still  a  very  shapely  figure.  She  was 
what  would  be  called  a  fine  woman.  Her  eyes  were  full 
and  clear;  her  lips  were  well-moulded;  her  teeth,  rather 
protruding,  were  unimpaired.  Sally  was  filled  with  re- 
newed envy  of  her  personal  advantages.  Then  her  eyes 
went  back  to  Mrs.  Perce's  hair.  It  was  too  obviously 
doctored.  She  didn't  want  anything  like  that.  She 
wanted  something  more  delicate  .  .  . 

The  truth  flashed  upon  her.  Mrs.  Perce  was  a  trifle 
on  the  coarse  side.  Sally  quickly  compared  Mrs.  Perce's 
plump  hands  with  her  own  lean  ones.  At  the  scrutiny, 
she  put  her  hands  below  the  table,  for  they  were  not 
clean.  But  if  they  had  been  clean  she  would  have  taken 
pride  in  them ;  for  where  the  fingers  of  Mrs.  Perce  were 
stubby  her  own  were  slim  and  pretty.  She  understood 
her  own  shortcomings,  but  in  the  quick  observations  and 
comparisons  she  had  been  making,  Sally  had  learnt  a 
great  deal  more  clearly  than  ever  before  how  careful  she 
must  be  to  avoid  exaggeration  in  all  she  did.  Dressed 
and  adorned  as  Mrs.  Perce  was  dressed  and  adorned,  she 
would  have  looked  a  guy.  It  was  a  new  lesson  to  her,  and 
a  valuable  one. 

"Have  you  noticed,"  said  Mrs.  Perce,  *'how  me  and 
Perce's  dressed  up  today?" 

Sally  was  staggered.  She  looked  quickly  at  old  Perce 
and  saw  that  he  was  in  his  best  clothes,  with  a  lovely 


TOBY  49 

new  spotted  blue  and  white  tie,  and  a  dahlia  in  his  button- 
hole. 

"Of  course,"  she  said.  "I  noticed  everything.  Didn't 
like  to  ask.  What  is  it?  Is  it  your  birthday?  Wish  I'd 
known,"  she  added,  half-truth  fully.  "I'd  a  brought  you 
a  present." 

"No,"  laughed  Mrs.  Perce.  "Very  good  guess.  Not 
a  birthday.  It's  the  anniversar}^  of  our  wedding-day. 
Been  married  nine  years,  we  have." 

"Nine  years!"  echoed  Sally,  awestruck.  "Nine  years! 
And  you  haven't  had  a  baby  yet !" 

There  was  a  startling  guffaw.  Old  Perce  slapped  his 
leg  and  bayed.  Mrs.  Perce  threw  herself  back  in  her 
chair,  showing  every  brilliant  tooth.  The  noise  was  tre- 
mendous. 

"The  things  she  says !"  shrieked  Mrs.  Perce.  "Perce,  I 
always  said  that  child  was  a  caution !"  They  both  laughed 
until  they  were  in  an  extremity  of  mirth. 

Sally  recognised  herself  as  a  wit,  flushed,  and  laughed 
as  heartily  as  they.  She  had  spoken  incautiously,  as  a 
child,  and  without  sophistication.  But  she  accepted  re- 
sponsibility for  her  joke.  She  was  not  in  the  least  flur- 
ried, but  was  pleased  at  being  considered  an  adept  in  the 
ways  of  marriage.  At  heart  she  was  despising  herself 
for  not  having  been  more  truly  observant  of  their  clothes, 
because  in  reality  she  had  been  so  concentrated  upon  Mrs. 
Perce  that  she  had  never  thought  to  spare  an  eye  for  Mrs. 
Perce's  husband.  She  was  thankful  to  have  ridden  off 
so  easily  upon  her  naivete.  Meanwhile,  having  laughed 
amply,  the  Barrows  had  resumed  their  tea. 

"Nine  years,  eh!"  said  old  Perce,  reflectively.  "Takes 
some  believing,  Poll.  Nine  years.  Nine  years,  and  no 
baby,  eh!"  He  shook  his  head,  like  a  cat  sneezing,  and 
laughed  again.  "Here,  Sally.  Have  some  more  kipper. 
More  tea,  then.    Poll,  here's  a  lady  will  have  some  more 


60  COQUETTE 

tea,  if  you  please,  ma'am.  Sweet  enough,  Sally?  As 
before,  if  you  please,  Poll." 

"See,  where  was  you  then,  Perce?"  asked  Mrs.  Perce. 
"Nine  years  ago." 

"This  time  nine  years  ago "  murmured  old  Perce, 

reflectively.  "I  was  at  Potter's.  Yes,  Sally,  I  waddn't 
makin'  above  two  pound  a  week  when  I  got  married — 
if  that.  Two  pound  a  week  was  about  my  top-notch  in 
those  days.  Well,  it's  different  now."  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "And  I'll  tell  you  for  why,  Sally.  It  was  Poll, 
there.  Don't  you  forget  it.  If  a  man's  got  a  good  wife — 
say  there's  something  in  him — he'll  end  his  days  in  com- 
fort.   She'll  see  to  that.    Now,  the  man  you  marry " 

"Here,  Perce !  Steady  on !"  cried  Mrs.  Perce.  "Sally's 
not  seventeen  yet,  remember." 

"Wait!"  Old  Perce  directed  a  finger.  Sally  was 
brimming  with  gladness,  at  the  topic  and  the  confidence 
in  herself  which  she  saw  he  was  going  to  express.  "The 
man  you  marry,  Sally — he'll  have  to  he  a  man.  Under- 
stan'  what  I  mean?  None  of  these  fine  la-di-da  fellows, 
but  a  Man.  And — if  he  works,  you  save.  Not  to 
scrape,  you  understand.  Just  save.  For  the  first  five 
years,  be  careful.  Have  your  fun.  No  harm  in  that.  But 
be  careful.  No  kids.  No  swank.  Stability,  that's  what's 
wanted.  Stability.  If  you've  got  a  bit  of  money  behind 
you See  what  I  mean  ?" 

"Oo  yes,  Mr.  Barrow,"  said  Sally,  incoherent  with 
pride.    "That's  just  what  I  think." 

Old  Perce  looked  at  Mrs.  Perce,  raising  his  shoulders 
as  if  to  exhibit  Sally  to  her.  There  was  a  nod  between 
them.  For  some  time  all  became  rather  thoughtful,  per- 
haps thinking — as  she  was  uncontrollably  doing — of 
Sally's  future.    Old  Perce  took  out  his  pipe  at  last. 

"I'm  just  going  to  step  in  the  other  room,  Sally,"  he 
remarked,  "and  have  a  pipe  and  a  bit  of  a  tune.    I'll  see 


TOBY  51 

you  later — you  ladies,"  he  added  gallantly,  with  a  bow. 
And  then  he  withdrew,  leaving  them  alone,  with  Sally's 
cheeks  flushed  at  the  warmth  and  the  subject  they  had 
been  considering.  All  the  time  old  Perce  had  been  talking 
she  had  been  wishing  that  Toby  had  been  there  to  hear. 
Then  he'd  have  seen  what  these  people  thought  of  her. 
They  didn't  think  of  her  face;  they  didn't  go  off  in  a 
huff  because  she  had  been  too  ill  to  go  out  one  evening. 
They  knew.  .  .  .  Tears  filled  her  eyes.  She  stared  at  the 
red  fire  in  the  grate.  Mrs.  Perce  had  her  back  turned, 
filling  the  kettle  for  the  inevitable  washing-up,  and  so  she 
did  not  see  this  sudden  arrival  of  tragic  reflection.  All 
she  saw  was  a  willing  Sally  gathering  the  dishes  and 
scraping  the  fishbones  together  ready  for  throwing  behind 
the  fire.  How  was  Mrs.  Perce  to  visualise  that  other 
tea,  that  lonely  figure  in  the  other  room  ?  How  was  any- 
body to  understand  why  Sally  was  so  different  from  what 
she  had  been  at  home  ? 

Over  the  washing-up,  the  two  became  confidential. 
Sally  broached  the  subject  of  the  West  End.  She  dilated* 
upon  it.  Mrs.  Perce  was  all  sympathy,  and  full  of  agree- 
ment. 

"You're  quite  right,"  she  said.  "And  Pm  glad.  I 
wish  I  could  help  you.  Now,  can  I?"  She  thought  a 
moment.     "Wait  a  bit.    Wait  a  bit." 

She  went  out  of  the  room.  Amid  the  din  of  "There 
you  are,  there  you  are,  there  you  ain't — ain't — ain't," 
Sally  heard  her  call:  "Perce,  what's  the  name  Maggie 
Merrick  calls  herself  now?"  There  was  a  silence.  The 
door  of  the  other  room  was  closed.  Sally,  standing  by  the 
kitchen  table,  drying  a  plate,  strained  her  ears  imavail- 
ingly.  A  silence  was  upon  the  flat.  Only  the  fire  huskily 
caved  in,  and  little  darting  sparks  flew  into  the  air.  It 
was  as  though  her  life  hung  suspended.  Then,  in  a  few 
minutes,  Mrs.  Perce  returned,  a  triumphant  beam  upon 


62  COQUETTE 

her  face.  "You  go  and  see  Maggie  on  Monday,"  she  said. 
"I'll  write  her  a  letter.  She  calls  herself  Gala — Madame 
Gala.  Got  a  place  round  behind  Regent  Street,  and  about 
twenty  hands.  She's  a  very  old  friend  of  mine.  .  .  .  I'll 
give  you  a  letter  tonight.  Just  say  you  come  from  Polly 
Barrow.     She'll  see  you.     Course,  I  can't  be  sure.  .  .  ." 

"No,  no !"  Sally's  concurrence  was  eager.  Her  heart 
was  like  a  flame.    "You  are  kind  to  me,  Mrs.  Perce." 

"If  I  can  help  you,  Sally  .  .  .  Mrs.  Perce's  voice  took 
on  a  tone  of  kindness  almost  solemn.  "Well,  that's  all 
right.    Just  wait  till  these  things  are  washed." 

Trembling,  Sally  introduced  her  other  problem.  At 
first  Mrs.  Perce  gave  a  great  laugh,  and  looked  very 
sharply  at  Sally.  She  looked  at  her  dress,  at  her  face,  at 
her  hair. 

"I  don't  want  to  look  .  .  ." 

"It  wouldn't  help  you  to  look  made-up.  Not  with  Mag- 
gie.   So  there  is  a  boy !" 

"No !"    Sally's  tone  was  fierce. 

"Oh,  all  right."  Mrs.  Perce  was  evidently  not  alto- 
gether convinced.  She  dried  her  hands,  her  head  con- 
sideringly upon  one  side. 

"Who'd  look  at  me  ?"  There  was  a  vain  effort  in  this 
speech  to  corroborate  the  disclaimer;  but  there  was  also 
an  ingenuous  and  pathetic  appeal  for  some  sort  of  reas- 
surance, for  this  was  Sally's  hidden  fear. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Sally.  If  a  girl  makes  up  her  mind  to 
have  a  man  .  .  ." 

Sally's  heart  leapt.  She  looked  with  shining  eyes  of 
glory  at  Mrs.  Perce.  It  was  the  announcement  of  her 
dream,  a  confirmation  of  her  hope.  She  was  for  a  mo- 
ment ecstatic. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Perce!" 

"You  just  look  at  him  like  that,  my  dear.    "N^VII,  I'll 


TOBY  63 

tell  you  .  .  .  You  don't  want  to  look  too  fresh.  Don't 
use  peroxide.    Henna's  the  stuff  for  you." 

"Henna!  How  much?"  Sally  was  desperate.  The 
word  was  open  sesame  to  her, 

"Wait  a  bit.  I'll  think.  Henna.  And  a  face  cream. 
But  mind,  Sally,  be  careful.  Not  too  much  of  it.  And 
whatever  you  do,  remember  your  neck.  Yoii-  don't  see 
it;  but  others  do.  All  that's  above  your  dress.  And  a 
bit  below.  Some  people  are  inquisitive.  And  just  a  bit 
of  lip  salve — ^just  a  tinge.  See,  your  lips  aren't  red  enough. 
But  you've  got  to  be  on  the  watch  not  to  overdo  it.  No 
good  looking  like  a  tart." 

"No.  It's  just  the  hair  and  the  freckles,"  breathed 
Sally. 

"Oh,  well  .  .  .  We'll  make  a  picture  of  you.  And  the 
eyebrows,  Sally.  But  only  a  bit,  Sally.  Only  a  bit. 
You've  got  to  be  moderate.  .  .  ." 

Mrs.  Perce  went  off  into  a  delighted  silence.  She  was 
in  her  element.  She  had  before  her  a  great  opportunity, 
and  all  her  vanity  was  roused.  They  understood  one 
another.  And  for  all  Sally's  disclaimer  Mrs.  Perce  was 
in  no  way  deceived  about  her  ultimate  object.  She  was 
as  aware  of  Toby  as  if  she  knew  the  facts.  But  she  was 
too  shrewd  to  force  a  confidence.  To  herself  she  was 
laughing  with  the  full  enjoyment  which  some  women,  if 
not  most  of  them,  bring  to  the  contemplation  of  an  in- 
trigue and  its  ultimate  consequences.  Later,  she  resolved 
to  add  a  word  of  warning  upon  the  handling  of  that  sub- 
ject. But  more  thought  encouraged  her  to  be  silent. 
There  was  that  in  Sally's  bearing  which  gave  Mrs.  Perce 
to  understand  that  in  the  long  run  Sally  knew  what  she 
was  about.  Mrs.  Perce  was  conscious  of  a  smart  feeling 
of  admiration  for  this  child. 


54  COQUETTE 

xi 

Clasping  tightly  the  precious  henna  and  her  other  pur- 
chases, Sally  hurried  home  through  the  dark  streets. 
Within  her  blouse  was  the  letter  to  Madame  Gala.  Her 
head  was  full  of  her  plans,  her  delighted  anticipations  of 
victory.  For  this  moment  she  could  not  contemplate  the 
possibility  that  all  would  not  go  well.  She  was  intoxi- 
cated. Her  heart  was  swelling.  Thoughts  galloped  away, 
like  steam  from  a  boiling  kettle.  She  kept  no  memory  of 
them.  It  was  enough  for  her  that  she  was  thrilled  with 
her  own  prospects.  Of  course  Mrs.  Perce's  friend  would 
take  her  on.  Of  course  Toby  would  fall  in  love  with  her. 
She  could  make  him.  Once  let  her  achieve  her  immediate 
objects,  and  there  was  no  end  to  future  possibilities.  How 
strange,  how  wonderful,  the  difference  which  the  last  few 
hours  had  made  to  her!  It  really  seemed  true  for  once 
that  in  the  darkest  hour  dawn  was  most  nearly  at  hand. 
She  let  herself  into  the  house  and  crept  up  the  stairs,  sub- 
dued but  exultant.  It  would  now  have  taken  much  more 
than  the  coldness  and  darkness  of  the  horrible  room  to 
spoil  her  excited  happiness.  She  even  welcomed  them, 
because  if  her  mother  awoke  there  would  be  the  less  need 
for  explanations.  She* stood  a  candle  upon  the  washstand, 
screened  from  the  bed,  and  lighted  the  oil  stove  which 
they  always  used  for  preparing  the  breakfast.  Her  pur- 
chases were  carefully  arrayed,  and  then  hidden.  She  re- 
moved her  outer  clothes,  and  let  down  her  hair,  shivering 
slightly,  but  tense  with  resolve  and  the  absorption  of  the 
moment.  Round  her  shoulders  she  hung  a  big  towel,  and 
kicked  it  out,  looking  down  at  her  legs  and  feet.  She 
was  conscious  of  pride,  of  physical  freedom.  She  made 
small  dancing  steps,  as  happy  as  a  child,  while  she  waited 
and  waited  for  the  slow  kettle  to  boil. 

Later,  Sally  stole  to  bed,  careful  not  to  touch  her  sleep- 


TOBY  S5 

ing  mother,  lest  her  own  chill  body  should  awaken  her 
and  provoke  a  querulous  scene.  She  was  shuddering  from 
head  to  foot.  It  seemed  to  take  hours  to  shake  off  the 
frozen  feeling,  and  if  she  raised  her  feet  and  touched 
them  with  her  hands  they  were  like  pieces  of  ice.  They 
were  still  cold  when  she  forgot  everything;  and  she 
awoke,  the  towel  still  about  her  head,  with  the  sun  up 
and  the  day  well  advanced.  A  careful  hand  to  her  hair, 
a  quick  scurry  to  the  mirror,  a  leap  of  apprehensiveness ; 
and  then  she  was  back  in  bed,  shamming  sleep,  because 
her  mother  had  stirred.  The  two  lay  side  by  side  for  ever 
so  long,  until  Sally  could  once  again  allow  herself  to 
breathe  freely.  She  did  not  examine  her  feelings:  she 
only  knew  that  she  was  afraid  and  confident,  alternately 
timid  and  ashamed,  and  then  again  breathing  deep  with 
satisfaction.  She  had  begun.  She  was  set  out  upon  her 
adventure.  At  a  blow  she  had  to  put  everything  to  the 
test.  How  she  longed  for  the  next  day !  How  she  longed 
for  her  interview  with  Mrs.  Perce's  friend,  and  for  her 
next  encounter  with  Tobv ! 


Xll 

At  night  she  allowed  her  mother  to  go  to  bed  first,  and 
waited  a  little  while  before  beginning  her  preparations. 
She  was  so  long  that  her  mother,  although  still  engrossed 
by  the  pain  in  her  head,  began  to  grumble. 

"What  you  doing,  Sally?"  she  cried  sharply. 

"Washing  my  hair,"  answered  Sally,  like  a  shot. 

"Ought  to  have  done  it  in  daylight,  silly  girl.  And 
dried  it  in  front  the  fire.  I  don't  know  what's  come  to 
you,  Sally.  You  seem  to  do  everything  you  can  to  worrit 
me.  Now  I  want  to  go  to  sleep,  and  you  keep  the  lamp 
burning,  and  the  fire  burning,  and  it's  all  alight,  so  I  can't 
get  off." 


66  COQUETTE 

Sally  shaded  the  lamp.  Her  lip  was  curled.  She  did 
not  deign  to  answer  the  complaint.  Silly  old  fool ;  always 
grumbling!  Let  her  wait.  Let  her  wait  and  see  what 
happened !  Sally  was  less  excited,  and  less  clumsy,  to- 
night. She  was  warmer,  too;  and  that  gave  her  more 
assurance.  Once  her  mother  had  fallen  asleep,  as  she 
knew  from  the  loud  breathing,  she  became  leisurely.  Her 
actions  were  even  luxurious,  so  much  more  at  ease  was 
she.  First  of  all  she  combed  her  hair,  wishing  it  were 
longer.  Then  she  made  all  her  dispositions.  For  the 
next  hour  she  was  busy,  and  by  the  time  she  was  in  bed 
she  had  begun  to  giggle  almost  hysterically.  She  lay  quite 
still,  and  quite  warm,  listening  for  some  sound  of  Toby. 
But  none  came.  Wherever  he  was,  she  did  not  hear  him 
before  she  went  to  sleep. 

And  then  in  the  dark  morning  her  mother  could  not  see 
the  transformation  that  had  occurred ;  and  Sally  could  not 
see  it,  either.  They  made  a  slow  and  tasteless  breakfast, 
and  Mrs.  Minto  slipped  out  to  her  first  situation,  where 
she  had  to  be  at  half-past  seven.  From  that  she  would 
go  on  to  another  at  half -past  ten  that  would  keep  her  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  afternoon,  Sally,  instead  of  going 
back  to  bed,  as  she  often  did  when  the  two  breakfasted 
together,  dressed  herself  with  great  care  and  prepared  to 
go  out  and  meet  May  Pearcey.  She  tried  to  see  herself 
in  the  mirror,  but  could  only  get  a  lampnlight  view  that 
frightened  her.  She  had  washed  very  carefully,  and  as 
she  had  made  her  own  dress  it  fitted  well  and  suited  her. 
She  had  a  big  black  hat  and  was  going  to  get  new  gloves 
before  calling  upon  Madame  Gala,  Her  shoes  were  bad, 
but  she  brushed  them  well.  Stockings  she  had  bought 
on  Saturday  night.  Turning  round  and  round  before  the 
mirror,  extending  her  arms,  and  patting  down  her  skirt, 
she  was  content  with  everything  but  the  incalculable  ef- 
fect of  her  recent  activities.     But  the  part  of  her  hair 


TOBY  57 

which  showed  beneath  her  hat  was  a  rich  shade,  and  if 
her  face  looked  artificially  pale  it  still  appeared  smooth 
and  fresh. 

What  doubt  she  may  have  had  was  set  at  rest  by  May 
Pearcey  when  they  met.  The  encounter  took  place  in 
Grove  Road  at  the  corner  of  Hornsey  Road,  just  where 
the  shops  are;  and  the  two  girls  walked  westward  to- 
gether. 

**Oo,  Sally,  you  do  look  smart!"  May  irrepressibly 
cried.  "Oo,  what  you  bin  doing  to  your  hair!  Looks 
lervly!    Oo,  and  your  face.     Got  off  with  a  earl?" 

She  was  all  attention  at  Sally's  tale,  and  Sally  showed 
her  the  letter  to  Madame  Gala.  They  stood  together 
reading  it.  For  the  moment  May  was  honestly  full  of 
congratulation.  She  was  so  simple-minded,  and  so  little 
attached  to  the  dressmaking,  that  she  had  no  envy.  A 
boy  would  have  been  a  different  matter.  And  she  was 
honestly  delighted  with  Sally's  appearance. 

"You  look  lervly!"  she  kept  saying.  "Oo,  I  do  hope 
you  get  it.  I  say,  come  out  's  evening,  and  tell  me.  Will 
you?"  May  was  very  coaxing  indeed.  She  was  sincerely 
impressed. 

It  was  a  compliment,  as  well  as  a  curiosity.  Sally  hesi- 
tated. She  had  planned  to  see  Toby;  but  if  Toby  was 
going  to  be  a  lout  she  might  just  as  well  show  him  she 
didn't  care. 

"All  right,"  she  said.  "Look  here,  if  I'm  not  there 
by  half-past  seven,  you'll  know  I've  been  kept^mother's 
kept  me.    See?" 

"Mother!"  laughed  May.  "Well,  I'll  be  there  quarter- 
past.  See !  Shouldn't  come  any  further,  case  old  Mother 
Jubb's  lookin'  out  the  window.  She  might  not  believe 
you  was  ill  if  she  saw  you  lookin'  so  smart.  Might  think 
you  was  takin'  a  day  off  to  go  to  the  Zoo." 

They  parted.  May  Pearcey  to  spin  a  tale  of  Sally's  ill- 


58  COQUETTE 

ness  to  Miss  Jubb,  and  Sally  to  proceed,  after  getting  a 
pair  of  black  cotton  gloves,  to  the  West  End,  In  the 
shop,  half  hidden  among  the  rolls  of  flannel  and  little 
racks  and  trays  of  smaller  articles  of  haberdashery,  there 
was  a  full-length  strip  of  mirror.  It  stood  gloomily  in  the 
half-light  of  the  shop,  which,  like  all  suburban  drapers' 
shops,  had  the  air  of  a  crowded  and  airless  cavern 
full  of  stale  adornments.  Sally  did  not  see  the  mirror  at 
first,  but  while  the  shop  girl  went  to  fetch  the  gloves,  she 
was  looking  idly  round  when  she  caught  sight  of  a  slim 
young  lady  in  black.  The  young  lady  was  very  trim, 
dressed  all  in  black,  with  slim  ankles  and  pretty  hands, 
and  a  big  black  hat — and  it  was  herself !  Herself,  looking 
like  a  lady.  Quickly,  she  stepped  to  the  mirror,  examining 
her  cheeks,  her  neck,  her  brows,  and  her  gloriously  richly- 
tinted  hair.  She  was  amazed  and  delighted.  A  proud 
smile  twisted  her  thin  little  lips,  so  slightly  touched  with 
Lipsol  that  they  did  not  seem  to  have  been  touched  at  all, 
but  only  to  be  prettier  than  usual.  After  the  first  curi- 
osity, the  first  flush  of  recognition,  followed  precise  scru- 
tiny. Sally  nodded  to  herself.  She  would  do.  There  was 
no  doubt  of  it.  From  that  moment  she  was  no  longer 
triumphant  or  excited:  she  was  sure.  She  had  learnt  a 
great  lesson,  that  excitement  is  no  criterion  of  victory  or 
happiness,  and  that  the  artist  is  cool,  confident,  free  from 
triumph.  At  a  bound,  Sally  had  become  an  artist.  She 
had  always  been  potentially  an  artist ;  but  she  at  last  had 
attained  vision. 

xiii 

Precious  pennies  went  to  pay  her  tram  fare  to  Totten- 
ham Court  Road;  and  from  there  she  walked  to  Madame 
Gala's,  asking  the  way,  and  getting  rather  flustered  and 
bewildered  at  the  pushing  crowds  and  the  big  shops  with 
their  irresistible  windows,  and  the  extraordinary  amount 


TOBY  59 

of  traffic  that  seemed  to  make  Oxford  Street  one  continu- 
ous torrent  of  carts  and  omnibuses.  The  big  furniture 
shops  in  Tottenham  Court  Road  had  impressed  her;  but 
the  shops  in  Oxford  Street  were  beyond  anything-  she 
ever  remembered  to  have  seen.  A  flash  of  comparison 
with  HoUoway — even  with  Jones's  magnificent  row  of 
shops  on  the  way  to  Highbury,  or  the  big  drapers  and 
clothiers  in  the  Upper  Street — made  her  reahse  how  right 
had  been  her  longing  for  the  West  End.  It  had  been 
more  than  a  dream.  It  had  been  an  inspiration.  Hollo- 
way  was  seen  in  its  dinginess,  its  greasy  mud  on  the  rough 
roads,  the  general  air  it  had  of  being  a  step  or  two  behind 
the  times;  and  here  was  the  brilliance,  the  enthralling 
reality,  of  the  West  to  take  its  place.  Sally  was  conscious 
of  new  buoyancy.  If  she  had  been  pleased  with  Totten- 
ham Court  Road,  and  delighted  with  the  essentially  com- 
monplace Oxford  Street,  she  exulted  in  that  alluring  curve 
which  will  always  make  Regent  Street  a  fascination  for 
:he  visitor  to  London  and  even  a  satisfaction  to  the  Lon- 
doner himself.  Sally  was  both  a  Londoner  and  a  visitor, 
and  her  feelings  were  proportionate.  She  did  not  know 
that  she  was  proud  of  being  London  bom  and  bred;  but 
her  eye  was  possessive,  and  she  would  not  have  given 
London  in  exchange  for  the  dozen  other  great  capitals 
of  the  world  put  together.  She  looked  round  at  the  shops, 
at  the  buildings  and  the  traffic;  and  she  made  a  historic 
remark. 

"Cooh,"  she  said.  "Fine!  Fancy  living  here!  This 
is  the  place  for  me." 

It  was  final.  It  took  no  account  of  the  risks  of  a  per- 
adventure.  Madame  Gala  was  a  mere  cog  in  the  great 
wheel  of  Sally's  progress  through  life.  Even  Toby  had 
at  first  no  place  in  her  survey.  Then  she  wondered  if  he 
knew  Regent  Street.  He  could  come  one  Saturday  and 
wait  for  her  outside  Madame  Gala's.  They  would  swank, 


60  COQUETTE 

and  go  and  have  tea  at  an  A.  B,  C.  or  Lyons's ;  and  per- 
haps go  into  Hyde  Park.  Gradually  it  came  back  to  her 
that  her  father  used  to  take  them  to  Hyde  Park  on  Sun- 
days. But  that  was  long  ago,  and  on  Sundays  the  traffic 
was  less  and  the  shops  were  all  shuttered.  She  gave  a  sigh 
at  the  memory,  awoke,  and  marched  up  to  a  colossal  po- 
liceman who  was  wagging  a  pair  of  gloves  in  his  right 
hand — as  if  to  keep  the  flies  away,  but  in  reality  to  en- 
courage the  traffic.  He  inclined  an  ear,  and  an  eye  to  her 
letter,  and  trumpeted  out  directions. 

And  at  last  Sally  reached  Madame  Gala's,  and  with 
Madame  Gala's  another  turning-point  in  her  life.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  been  conscious  of  so  all-important 
an  event.  When  she  came  to  the  building  she  was  trem- 
bling. Her  eyes  closed,  almost  in  an  expression  of  prayer. 
She  took  five  minutes  to  climb  the  stairs  to  the  second 
floor,  and  then  turned  to  fly.  She  recovered,  and  hung 
about  for  a  while,  hoping  for  some  accident  to  carry  her 
right  into  the  place.  Then,  with  a  feeble  air  of  confi- 
dence, she  pushed  open  the  door  and  walked  in  without 
knocking. 

Sally  could  have  fallen  down  in  horror;  for  as  she 
entered  she  saw  a  very  tall  young  woman  talking  to  the 
most  beautifully  dressed  person  she  had  ever  seen.  And 
they  were  in  a  room  such  as  Sally  had  never  been  in  be- 
fore— a  room  entirely  decorated  in  a  sort  of  grey-blue. 
Wallpaper,  hangings,  and  chair-upholsterings  were  ex- 
actly uniform.  The  effect,  although  beautiful  and  rest- 
ful, was  to  Sally's  eye  so  sumptuous  that  she  felt  she 
must  by  some  terrible  mischance  have  come  into  a  draw- 
ing-room. But  she  heard  the  young  woman  say,  "Yes, 
jneddam  .  .  .  I'll  tell  Madame  Gala  .  .  .  Yes,  meddam 
.  .  .  Yes,  meddam  .  .  .  quite  .  .  .  yes,  I  quite  .  .  . 
Good  morning,  meddam."  And  then  as  the  wonderful 
creature  disappeared  in  a  whirl  of  richness,  like  a  fairy 


TOBY  61 

godmother,  the  tall  young  woman  turned  almost  pounc- 
ingly  upon  Sally,  and  in  a  contemptuous  voice  said 
"Yes?" 

Sally  shook  herself.  It  was  the  gesture  of  one  who  has 
been  dreaming. 

"I  want  to  see  Madame  Gala,"  she  said,  very  distinctly. 
"I've  got   a  letter  for  her  from  Mrs.  Barrow." 

"Where  is  it?"  demanded  the  young  woman.  "That 
it?" 

She  took  from  Sally's  unwilling  but  unresisting  hand 
the  letter  which  Mrs.  Perce  had  written,  pulled  it  from 
the  open  envelope,  read  it,  and  looked  again  at  Sally. 

"I  want  to  see  Madame  Gala,"  said  Sally,  stubbornly. 
Her  little  mouth  was  now  very  savagely  set,  and  if  there 
had  been  any  refusal  upon  the  young  woman's  part  there 
would  have  been  a  scene. 

"All  right.  Keep  your  hair  on,"  said  the  inquisitive 
young  woman.     "Are  you  Miss  Minto?" 

"Yes,  I  am."  Sally  nodded  energetically,  flushing.  She 
wondered  if  the  word  "hair".  .  . 

Her  interlocutor  turned,  and  went  into  an  inner  room, 
replacing  the  letter  as  she  did  so,  and  folding  over  the 
flap,  so  that  it  would  seem  as  though  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  contents.  Sally  quickly  saw  the  kind  of  person  she  was 
— an  interfering  creature,  with  "Miss  Pry"  written  all 
over  her.  She  was  tall  and  thin,  and  had  gooseberry  eyes 
and  a  small  nose  and  a  large  sycophantic  mouth.  Sally 
had  a  picture  of  her  all  the  time  she  was  away — grey-blue 
dress  and  all.  She  didn't  like  her.  She  hated  her.  She 
knew  that  they  would  never  get  on  together.  Miss  Nosey ! 
"Yes,  meddam;  no,  meddam  .  .  .  yes,  I  quite  .  .  ." 
Sally  tried  to  pronounce  quite  "quaite,"  as  she  had  done. 
After  all,  she  was  only  a  sort  of  maid — somebody  to  take 
the  names  of  callers.  She'd  got  no  right  to  be  saucy.  Old 
six-foot.     Old  match-legs.     She'd  got  a  nose  in  every- 


62  COQUETTE 

body's  business.  Mind  she  didn't  get  it  pulled !  .  .  .  But 
what  a  lovely  room !  Must  have  cost  pounds  and  pounds ! 
All  grey-blue — even  to  the  little  ornaments  on  the  mantel- 
piece, all  except  the  black  tiger.  Fancy  working  in  a  place 
like  this !  Different  to  Miss  Jubb's !  Sally  gave  a  sort 
of  internal  giggle,  a  noiseless  affair  that  was  almost  just 
a  wriggle  of  delight.  Miss  Jubb !  Did  you  ever  see  any- 
thing like  the  dress  she  made  for  Mrs.  Miller,  of  17  Tavi- 
stock !  Chronic,  it  was !  Like  a  concertina !  And  poor 
old  Annie  Jubb  getting  flurried  when  the  material  frayed 
in  the  scissors!  Cooh!  Call  her  a  dressmaker!  More 
like  a  figure  of  fun! 

"Come  in,  please,"  said  Nosey,  jerking  her  nose.  And 
Sally  started  once  again  from  reverie,  to  follow  the  tall 
young  woman  from  the  grey-blue  room  into  another  one 
which  was  all  in  a  warm  colour  between  orange  and 
biscuit.  She  swallowed  quickly,  and  heard  a  little  runnel 
of  moisture  in  her  dry  throat.  There  was  a  throbbing 
behind  her  eyes.  She  became  very  small  and  clumsy,  and 
kept  her  head  lowered,  and  her  hands  clasped. 

When  a  voice  bade  her  sit  down,  Sally  stole  a  quick 
glance  at  Madame  Gala.  At  once  she  lowered  her  eyes 
again,  because  they  had  met  unexpectedly  a  pair  of  eyes 
more  disconcerting  than  any  she  had  known  since  her 
schooldays.  Madame  Gala  did  not  employ  a  score  of 
hands  for  nothing !  She  had  looked  at  Sally  the  moment 
Sally  came  into  the  room,  and  did  not  cease  to  look  at 
her.  And  she  had  very  cold  grey  eyes,  and  was  very  cold 
(really  very  deficient  in  stamina)  herself.  She  was  ter- 
ribly thin,  and  chilling,  and  capable.  She  was  dressed  in 
grey ;  but  you  could  not  see  the  dress  except  at  the  bottom 
of  the  skirt  and  the  middle  of  the  sleeves,  because  she 
wore  a  large  pinafore-overall,  of  a  lighter  grey  and  a 
softer  material.  She  had  no  pins  in  her  mouth,  and  there 
were  no  pictures  of  costumes  or  sheets  of  paper  patterns 


TOBY  63 

to  be  seen.  But  the  room,  all  the  same,  was  a  work-rcK)m, 
and  there  was  a  beautiful  large  table  in  it  which  could 
have  served  for  cutting  out  a  costume  for  a  giantess. 

"You're  Miss  Minto.  How  old  are  you?  Hn,  small 
for  your  age.  Mother  and  father?  When  did  your — oh, 
you're  in  mourning  for  him.  How  did  he  die?  What 
sort  of  accident?  Hn  .  .  .  What  experience  have  you 
had?  Miss  Whatf  Oh,  yes  .  .  .  two  years.  Have  you 
left?  I  see.  Well,  Mrs.  Barrow's  an  old  friend  of  mine, 
and  I'd  like  to  oblige  her.  Also,  I  want  more  help.  My 
business  is  increasing.  If  you  can  start  in  a  fortnight 
I'll  pay  you  six — ^no,  I'll  pay  you  seven  shillings  a  week. 
You  get  here  at  nine  in  the  morning.  You'll  do  as  you're 
told,  and  behave  yourself.  You'll  work  under  a  very 
clever  lady.  Miss  Summers,  in  that  room.  I'll  show  you. 
Come  in  here  ..." 

Sally,  shaking  with  jubilation,  followed  her  into  a  very 
large  room  adjoining,  where  a  number  of  girls  were  (ap- 
parently) frantically  busy — far  too  busy  to  be  conscious 
that  their  employer  had  entered  the  room.  Sally  did  not 
believe  that  they  were  always  so  intent  upon  their  work. 
She  knew  too  much.  To  herself  she  said  "Swank!"  It 
was  a  beautifully  light  place,  all  decorated  in  a  pale  grey; 
and  there  was  a  long  deep  bench  all  round  the  room.  It 
was  lighted  by  windows  and  a  skylight,  and  it  was  plain 
that  a  considerable  amount  of  work  was  in  progress. 
Sally  gave  a  dazed  glance  round,  and  looked  again,  say- 
ing, "Yes,  ma'am;  Yes,  ma'am,"  to  everything  Madame 
Gala  said ;  and  a  few  minutes  later  was  out  in  the  street 
again,  engaged  at  seven  shillings  a  week,  and  not  knowing 
whether  she  was  alive  or  dead,  awake  or  dreaming.  The 
day  was  still  before  her;  she  had  nearly  ten  shillings  hid- 
den in  her  bodice ;  and  she  was  a  queen  amid  all  the  surg- 
ing traffic  of  the  West  End — her  West  End — the  place 
of  her  dreams,  her  pilgrimage,  her  triumph.    Sally's  eyes 


64  COQUETTE 

were  filmed  with  tears.  She  walked  away  from  the  build- 
ing passionately  fighting  with  sobs  that  rose  from  deep 
within  her.  The  tears  trickled  down  her  white  cheeks. 
And  all  at  once  she  was  laughing  again,  chuckling  and 
chuckling  as  if  this  was  the  most  splendid  joke  in  the 
world.  And  then,  when  the  laughter  was  done,  she  was 
once  again  Sally,  deliberate,  cool  and  unflinching.  This 
was  what  she  had  determined.  There  were  other  steps 
to  follow.  She  must  not  be  too  sure;  she  must  go  care- 
fully. But  all  the  same  she  would  win.  She  was 
Sally,  She  was  going  to  get  on.  She  was  going  to  be 
cautious.  She  was  going  to  be  secure.  That  was  her 
touchstone — security.  Without  it,  she  would  never  know 
peace.  At  all  costs,  security.  That  meant  keeping  cool. 
That  meant  watching  your  step.  And  in  the  end  it  meant 
making  money,  and  having  enough  to  eat,  and  nice 
clothes,  and  pleasures,  and  all  that  she  had  never  yet  had. 
Into  the  eyes  that  had  been  brimming  with  tears,  and, 
immediately  after,  with  glee,  there  came  once  again  a 
hardness,  a  determination.  It  was  the  expression  of  a 
wary  animal,  treading  among  dangers. 

x£v 

By  an  instinct,  Sally  turned  west,  so  that  she  presently 
found  herself  in  a  confusing  number  of  small  streets;  but 
when  she  had  extricated  herself  and  had  mastered  the 
geography  of  that  part  of  London  she  was  rewarded  by 
coming  out  into  Park  Lane,  with  the  fine  breadth 
of  Hyde  Park  open  to  her  eyes  and  her  impulse  towards 
exploration.  She  pretended  that  she  knew  the  Park ;  but 
in  fact  to  her  older  eyes  and  in  its  weekday  freedom  from 
crowds  it  looked  so  different  that  she  could  not  link  it 
with  ancient  memories.  Thus,  for  a  time,  its  paths  and 
its  greenness  and  its  air  of  great  space  gave  her  unquali- 


TOBY  65 

fied  pleasure.  She  wandered  on,  observing  the  fallen 
leaves,  and  the  few  pedestrians ;  and  looked  up  at  the  blue 
sky,  and  marvelled  to  herself;  and  then  presently  she  sat 
down  upon  one  of  the  public  seats  and  tried  to  get  some 
coherence  into  her  thoughts.  She  sat  there  for  some 
time,  her  shabby  little  toes  cocked  up  on  the  gravel  before 
her,  and  she  began  to  feel  lonely  and  tired  and  restless, 
as  though  something  further  had  still  to  be  done.  There 
was  the  whole  day  before  her.  She  could  not  stay  here, 
because  although  the  day  was  clear  and  fine  there  was  a 
chill  wind,  and  she  was  not  warmly  clad.  Already  her 
hands  were  feeling  numb  in  the  cotton  gloves,  and  her 
feet  were  losing  the  pleasant  tired  tingle  they  had  had  a 
short  time  before.  The  sense  of  innumerable  hours  which 
had  to  be  filled  was  strong  upon  Sally,  who  had  never 
previously  had  so  much  time  to  herself,  alone.  So  she 
rose  briskly  from  her  seat,  walked  along  the  broad  path- 
way, and  came  back  to  the  Marble  Arch,  where  Oxford 
Street  began  again.  This  time  she  was  bent  upon  looking 
at  the  shops,  and  browsed  for  a  time  at  the  windows  of 
Lewis's,  at  the  end  of  Orchard  Street.  And  then  she  had 
her  inspiration.  A  clock  told  her  it  was  after  half-past 
eleven.  May's  words  came  into  her  mind:  "She  might 
think  you  was  takin'  a  day  off  to  go  to  the  Zoo." 

"Here,  where's  the  Zoo,"  she  suddenly,  without  a 
tremor,  asked  a  policeman. 

"They  got  plenty  white  mice,"  the  policeman  said.  "No 
good  you  a-goin'  there." 

"Saucy!"  rebuked  Sally.  "Suppose  they  let  you  out 
...  on  a  chain." 

"Quite  right,"  said  the  policeman.  "Didn't  want  to  let 
me  go.  Everybody  loved  little  Sammy.  But  the  Police 
Force  wanted  me." 

"Fancy  wanting  you!"  remarked  Sally,  witheringly, 
staring  at  his  good-tempered  face,  and,  under  his  helmet, 


66  COQUETTE 

at  a  pair  of  bright  blue  eyes.  He  was  a  "red"  man. 
"Give  'em  a  bit  of  ginger,  I  suppose." 

"As  you  go  by  the  Marrabon  Road,  you  just  cross  over 
and  go  into  Madame  Tussaud's.  You'll  see  a  lot  of  old 
friends  and  relations  there.  Charlie  Peace,  and  Mother 
Dyer  .  .  ." 

"Who's  she?"  Sally  demanded.  "Mother  Dyer. 
Never  heard  of  her." 

"Mother  Dyer?  Baby-farmer.  Her  you  used  to  call 
*Nursie.'  Go  straight  along  here,  and  v^^hen  you've  looked 
at  Madame  Tussaud's,  keep  down  the  Marrabon  Road  till 
you  come  to  the  Park.  See?  Regent's  Park,  that  is. 
And  walk  along  the  nice  broad  road,  and  you'll  find  the 
Zoo  on  your  left.  Good  morning,  my  dear  .  .  .  Don't 
let  'em  keep  you,  will  you  ?  .  .  .  Cahm  alahng,  'ere ;  cahm 
alahng,  'ere."  He  broke  off  to  attend  to  the  traffic,  which 
he  addressed  in  a  very  different  way  from  that  in  which 
he  had  spoken  to  Sally;  and  she,  rather  cheered  by  the 
exchange  of  badinage,  set  off  towards  Baker  Street  and 
the  Marylebone  Road  with  a  new  interest  in  hand.  Ma- 
dame Tussaud's  and  the  Zoo  in  one  day !  What  a  day  it 
would  have  been  by  the  time  she  reached  the  end  of  it. 
What  a  tale  she  would  be  able  to  tell  May  in  the  evening ! 

Apart  from  the  two  visits  which  she  made,  to  the  wax- 
works and  the  menagerie,  both  of  which  took  so  long  that 
she  did  not  get  home  until  six  o'clock,  Sally  had  no  other 
adventure.  She  had  lunch  in  the  Zoo,  and  arrived  back 
in  Holloway  with  less  than  five  shillings  remaining  from 
her  windfall.  But  it  had  been  a  day,  and  it  still  held 
marvellous  possibilities  of  an  encounter  with  Toby.  Her 
first  thought  on  reaching  home  was  of  him.  That  was 
why  she  was  so  deaf  to  her  mother's  complaining.  She 
did  not  hear  it.  And  she  did  not  tell  her  mother  of  the 
day's  outing.  There  would  be  time  for  that  later.  If 
she  told  her  now  there  would  only  be  trouble,  and  Sally 


TOBY  67 

Avas  tired  of  trouble.  When  she  had  explained  to  Miss 
Jubb,  and  had  left  Miss  Jubb  on  Saturday  week,  she 
would  airily  say  to  her  mother:  "I  got  a  job  in  the  West 
End,  now."  See  ma  jump!  Sally  was  conscious  for  the 
first  time  of  a  shghtly  sinking  heart.  Suppose  she  didn't 
suit  Madame  Gala?  Suppose  she  lost  her  new  job  after 
a  week  or  two  ?  Oh,  rubbish  .  .  .  Rot !  Time  enough 
for  the  gripes  when  she  got  the  sack! 

She  could  hear  no  sound  at  all  from  the  room  above. 
AVas  Toby  not  home  yet?  He  used  to  get  home  about 
ten  minutes  past  six,  as  a  rule.  It  was  now  a  quarter-past 
If  she  did  not  hear  him  she  would  go  and  meet  May,  and 
then  call  in  to  tell  Mrs.  Perce  all  about  the  news,  and  then 
come  home  after  her  mother  had  gone  to  bed.  She  had 
her  tea,  turning  up  her  nose  at  it,  and  all  the  time  wishing 
for  something  better.  For  some  time  after  the  meal  she 
stood  about  reflecting  upon  her  day  and  upon  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  future.  Consideringly,  she  at  last  said  in 
a  matter-of-fact  tone : 

"One  day  we'll  have  jam  for  tea,  ma.  And  kippers. 
And  fried  sausages.    And  steak  and  chips." 

"Good  gracious !"  cried  Mrs.  Minto.  "Whatever's  put 
such  ideas  into  your  head !" 

"And  we'll  have  real  coal,  and  thick  blankets,  and  a  new 
mattress,  and  new  curtains,  and  a  brass  fender.  And 
everything  in  the  room'll  be  a  beautiful  gray-blue.  And 
you'll  sit  here,  doing  nothing." 

"I'm  sure  I  shan't,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Minto,  fingering 
her  mouth  to  hide  a  nervous  smile  of  pleasure. 

"Doing  nothing.  And  Elbert,  the  footman,  will  come  in 
with  the  tea  and  take  it  away  again ;  and  you'll  say,  'El- 
bert'— ^mustn't  say  'Elbert  dear' — you'll  say,  'Elbert,  just 
bring  me  my  glass  of  hot  water  at  ten  o'clock.'  And  he'll 
say,  'Yes,  me  lady.'    No,  he  won't.    He'll  say,  'Yes,  med- 


68  COQUETTE 

dam  .  .  .  quite.  .  .  .  Yes,  meddam.'  That's  what  he'll 
say.    Lick  your  shoes,  he  will,  because  you're  rich." 

"Rich!"  sighed  Mrs.  Minto.  "Who's  to  make  me  rich?" 

"I'm  going  to  make  us  all  rich,"  explained  Sally.  "You 
mark  my  words  and  wait  and  see." 

"I  wouldn't  mind  not  being  rich,"  Mrs.  Minto  said,  "if 
it  wasn't  that  my  poor  'ed  .  .  ." 

"O-oh !"  cried  Sally,  in  wrath.  Her  mood  was  crushed 
by  this  inexorable  return  to  the  subject  she  had  been  chat- 
tering to  avert.  "Give  your  old  head  a  rest,  ma.  Here, 
come  out  for  a  walk  with  me." 

"You're  not  to  go  out,  Sally.  Mrs.  Roberson  says.  .  .  ." 

"That  for  Mrs.  Roberson,"  said  Sally,  already  on  her 
feet.  "You  don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  stick  in  here  and 
get  frozen  stiff.  There's  nothing  to  do  indoors.  I  got  no 
sewing.  Only  makes  me  fret  if  I  stay  at  home.  I'm  going 
to  see  Mrs.  Perce.  .  .  ." 

She  moved  hastily  to  the  door,  and  closed  it  quietly  after 
her,  for  she  had  heard  below  her  the  shutting  of  the  front 
door,  and  she  thought  it  might  be  Toby  at  last.  It  was 
nearly  a  quarter  to  seven.  Her  guess  had  been  right.  It 
was  he.  Seeming  not  to  have  heard  him,  she  ran  lightly 
down  the  stairs  as  he  heavily  mounted  them.  Her  heart 
was  thumping  so  that  she  felt  quite  sick  and  faint.  She 
could  no  longer  run,  but  could  only  totter  down  towards 
the  inevitable  confrontation.  It  was  there,  and  it  was 
past — a  plain,  boorish  "Evening."  She  managed  the  rest 
of  the  flight  at  a  run ;  but  when  she  was  out  of  doors  Sally 
turned  to  the  darkness  and  could  no  longer  restrain  her 
tears  of  anguish.  This  was  the  end  of  her  day.  Laugh 
in  the  morning,  cry  before  night.  That  was  the  truest 
proverb  that  ever  was  made.    She  was  heartbroken. 


TOBY  69 


XV 


There  was  no  question  of  seeing  May  or  calling  upon 
Mrs.  Perce.  Sally  was  beaten.  She  was  full  of  expostu- 
lations and  arguments,  but  all  were  addressed  to  Toby, 
and  she  could  not  have  borne  any  other  society.  So  she 
wandered  about  the  streets  for  an  hour,  miserably  aware 
that  once  or  twice  she  was  followed  by  an  aimless  strolling 
youth  who  did  not  know  how  to  occupy  a  lonely  evening 
and  who  yet  was  too  much  of  a  coward  to  address  her. 
In  her  mind  she  went  over  every  detail  of  her  friendship 
with  Toby.  It  had  become  suddenly  unreal,  like  a  thing 
that  had  happened  years  before.  And  yet  the  throb  of 
pain  belonging  to  her  sense  of  his  cruelty  was  immediate. 
Every  detail  was  clear  to  her ;  and  the  whole  was  blurred. 
He  was  a  stranger;  and  yet  his  presence  would  at  once 
have  given  life  to  her  memories.  They  had  been  written, 
as  it  were,  in  invisible  ink,  which  needed  only  the  warmth 
of  a  fire  to  produce  their  message  vividly  once  again. 
Sally  sobbed  from  time  to  time;  but  she  was  no  longer 
crying.  Her  pain  was  too  deep  to  be  relieved  by  tears, 
which  with  her  were  the  result  of  weakness,  since  she  was 
not  naturally  liquid.  And  as  the  memory  was  exhausted 
in  its  evocation  she  began  to  think  as  of  old.  Her  quick 
brain  was  recovering  its  sway.  She  was  no  longer  an 
overwrought  child.  And  yet  when  she  strove  to  plan  a 
discomfiture  for  Toby,  who  had  so  wickedly  hurt  her,  she 
shrank  from  that  also ;  so  it  was  still  a  restless  and  unde- 
termined Sally  who  returned  home  to  find  her  mother 
dozing  by  the  feeble  warmth  of  a  dying  fire. 

The  next  day  passed  in  a  variety  of  moods,  and  in  the 
evening  Sally  found  in  herself  the  determination  to  call 
upon  Mrs.  Perce.  She  had  explained  her  non-arrival  of 
the  previous  night  to  May,  and  had  removed  her  grievance 
with  a  recital  of  all  she  had  done  during  the  stolen  day. 


70  COQUETTE 

She  had  endured  Miss  Jubb's  sour  scrutiny  of  her  hair, 
which  was  accomplished  without  comment.  And  she  had 
almost,  but  not  quite,  told  Miss  Jubb  of  her  proposed 
change.  At  times  her  courage  was  very  nearly  high 
enough,  but  it  never  reached  the  necessary  point,  or  the 
opportunity  was  ruined  at  the  vital  moment  by  some  inter- 
ruption. So  Miss  Jubb  worked  innocently,  not  guessing 
the  blow  that  was  to  fall.  That  it  would  be  a  serious  blow 
only  Sally  suspected.  Miss  Jubb  had  never  even  supposed 
it  possible  that  Sally  would  leave  her.  The  three  of  them 
spent  the  day  in  the  little  work-room,  which  managed  by 
the  end  of  the  afternoon  to  be  the  coldest  and  the  closest 
room  in  the  neighbourhood,  perhaps  owing  to  Miss  Jubb's 
use  of  a  defective  stove  for  heating,  and  her  own  radical 
immunity  from  chilblains. 

After  tea  Sally  went  straight  to  Hornsey  Road.  In 
thinking  of  Toby  as  she  left  the  house  she  made  a  light 
gesture  with  her  fingers  to  show  that  he  no  longer  existed. 
If  she  had  met  him  she  would  have  attempted  no  greeting, 
for  such  was  her  present  temper.  At  the  Barrows'  she 
was  received  with  acclamation.  Old  Perce,  who  had  en- 
joyed a  good  deal  of  four-ale  during  the  day,  and  had  a 
jugful  of  it  now  at  his  elbow,  collapsed  at  sight  of  her. 
He  bayed  a  little,  but  with  an  expression  of  admiring 
wonder  that  gave  Sally  her  best  tribute.  Mrs.  Perce,  the 
expert,  nodded.  She  had  received  a  letter  in  the  morning 
from  Madame  Gala.  So  to  her  all  the  news  was  known. 
All  the  same,  Sally  spent  a  happy  couple  of  hours  in  the 
flat,  and  collected  her  outdoor  clothes  with  unwillingness. 
Each  time  she  had  been  to  see  Mrs.  Perce  she  had  felt 
more  strongly  than  of  old  the  contrast  between  her  al- 
ways-cheerless home  and  their  warm,  prosperity-laden 
atmosphere.  The  recognition  acted  powerfully  upon  her. 
It  was  the  creation  in  her  mind  of  a  standard  of  physical 
comfort,  as  the  visit  to  Madame  Gala  had  created  a  stand- 


TOBY  71 

ard  of  decorative  colour.  She  was  frowning  at  the  new 
perception  as  she  left  the  house,  and  was  half-absorbed  in 
her  consciousness  of  it. 

The  feeling  did  not  prevent  her,  at  first  with  a  sharp 
tingling  of  surprise,  and  then,  as  she  grasped  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  fact,  a  start  of  emotional  disorder,  from  see- 
ing a  familiar  figure  in  the  light  of  the  Supply  Stores, 
Her  heart  jumped,  and  began  to  flurry  in  her  breast.  The 
figure  she  saw  was  that  of  Toby.  He  stood  a  little  to  the 
side  of  the  Stores,  watching  the  doorway  from  which  Sally 
came.  As  she  flinched,  he  came  across  the  road.  Sally 
pretended  not  to  notice  him,  and  knew  that  he  was  fol- 
lowing her.  But  Toby  made  no  attempt  to  speak  to  her 
while  they  were  in  the  light  of  the  shops.  She  saw  that 
he  had  his  cap  pulled  very  low  down  over  his  eyes,  and 
that  his  hands  were  not  in  his  pockets,  but  hanging  loose. 
He  was  dressed  in  a  rough  dark  tweed  suit,  and  looked 
like  a  fighter,  but  not  a  professional  boxer.  His  carriage 
was  clumsy,  but  light.  His  dark  face  was  marked  by 
a  sort  of  determination — not  bravado,  not  impudence,  but 
a  solid  resoluteness.  His  eyes  she  had  never  properly 
seen.  His  mouth  was  large,  but  the  lips  were  thin;  the 
nose  was  coarse,  but  not  big.  He  was  ugly,  but  he  was 
very  obviously  strong.  He  was  not  tall,  but  was  very 
sturdily  built,  and  gave  the  air  of  considerable  strength. 
As  he  followed  her  she  could  hardly  keep  from  looking 
back;  it  was  only  with  a  great  effort  that  she  kept  her 
eyes  forward,  and  as  she  turned  into  Grove  Road  she 
increased  her  pace.  Sally  knew  quite  well  what  he  would 
do.  He  would  wait  until  she  had  passed  the  block  of 
shops  and  had  come  to  the  comparative  darkness  of  the 
houses  beyond.  Then  he  would  walk  abreast  and  speak 
to  her.  And  while  she  tried  to  think  what  to  do  her  heart 
was  strangling  her.     She  was  so  excited  that  her  breath 


72  COQUETTE 

was  coming  almost  in  sobs.  She  was  excited,  but  she  did 
not  therefore  feel  at  his  mercy. 

It  happened  as  Sally  had  foreseen.  As  soon  as  she 
was  past  the  shops  she  heard  his  urgent  voice  at  her 
elbow — "Sally!"  For  a  moment  she  ignored  it.  Then 
she  turned,  very  coldly,  and  with  a  slight  sneer  looked  at 
him.  They  were  side  by  side  now.  He  was  keeping 
step  with  her  as  easily  as  he  could  have  kept  step  with 
a  child.     "Sally,"  he  repeated.     Sally  stopped  dead. 

"What  are  you  following  me  for?"  she  asked,  viciously. 
"Why  can't  you  leave  me  alone  ?  Following  me  like  that  I 
I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing." 

"I  been  waiting  outside  for  you  all  the  time.  I've  had 
no  grub.  I  followed  you  from  the  house.  I  saw  you 
start  out  just  as  I  was  getting  home." 

"Well,  what  of  it?  I  didn't  ask  you  to  follow  me, 
did  I?"  demanded  Sally.  But  in  the  darkness  of  the 
street  her  eyes  softened.  Her  heart  swelled  at  the  thought 
that  he  had  waited  for  her  in  the  Hornsey  Road  for 
fully  two  hours.  Toby  took  her  defiance  as  a  matter  of 
course.  He  was  still  standing  doggedly  before  her,  and 
as  she  began  once  again  to  walk  rapidly  in  the  direction 
of  home  he  followed  her,  half  a  step  behind.  At  the 
darkest  part  of  the  road  he  put  out  a  hand  to  check  her 
progress.  Sally  snatched  away  her  arm,  but  he  had  been 
prepared  for  that,  and  caught  her  immediately.  He  held 
her,  panting,  as  she  pressed  against  a  big  stone  gate- 
post. 

"Let  me  be!"  cried  Sally,  hoarsely  and  breathlessly. 
"Let  me  be."  She  did  not  scream.  She  was  too  im- 
pressed by  his  exhibition  of  strength.  He  continued  to 
hold  her,  and  they  stood  breast  to  breast,  Sally  panting, 
and  Toby  with  a  kind  of  stolid  determination. 

"Will  you  come  for  a  walk  quietly?"  he  asked,  jerk- 
ing his  head. 


TOBY  78 

"No,"  said  Sally,  "I  won't.*'  There  was  no  mercy, 
no  humility.     Only  a  hard  defiance, 

"Yes,  you  will."  He  pulled  her  towards  him,  so  that 
Sally  could  not  escape.  She  was  now  wholly  within  the 
circle  of  his  arm,  not  struggling,  but  with  her  poor 
thin  arms  staving  him  off.  Her  body  was  tense.  But 
she  made  no  sound,  and  if  there  were  any  passers  they 
knew  that  this  was  only  a  typical  lovers'  tiff,  common 
to  the  neighbourhood,  and  largely  a  matter  of  physical 
strength  and  feminine  vituperation.  "Yes,  you  will.  See? 
Come  on,  Sally." 

"You  let  me  go,"  she  demanded. 

"Say  you'll  come.  I'll  let  you  go  the  moment  you 
say  that." 

Sally  hesitated,  then  bowed  her  head  in  a  slow  acquies- 
cence. He  released  her,  and  she  ran ;  but  he  easily  over- 
took her,  and  she  was  once  again  held,  still  with  her 
back  to  a  pillar.  Both  were  now  breathing  hard.  Sally's 
head  was  lowered.  She  was  suffocating.  She  seemed  to 
be  in  complete  darkness.  And  she  had  no  sense  of  what 
was  happening.  The  mere  technique  of  the  row  absorbed 
her.  They  were  almost  like  two  quarrelling  cats,  both 
sullen,  both  glowering  and  full  of  resentment  rather  than 
burning  anger. 

"Will  you  come?"  asked  Toby.  "Just  for  a  walk. 
Half  an  hour." 

"What  d'you  want  me  to  come  for?" 

"Want  to  talk  to  you." 

"Yes,  well,  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you.  Understand  ?'* 
Sally  was  suddenly  trembling  with  a  passionate  rage. 
Her  voice  quivered  as  she  spoke,  and  the  words  timibled 
out  in  a  savage  incoherence. 

"I'm  going  to  talk  to  you.  So  you  may  as  well  make 
up  your  mind  to  come.  You  don't  want  to  stand  here 
all  night,  do  you?"    He  was  as  savage  as  she,  and  more 


74  COQUETTE 

grim.  Sally  made  an  attempt  to  escape,  and  was  further 
pinned.  He  was  breaking  down  the  defence  of  her  tired 
arms.  One  of  his  knees  was  against  her  leg.  She  was 
slipping,  slipping,  and  her  resolve  to  fight  against  him  was 
fading  as  rapidly  in  her  sense  of  the  physical  contact. 
She  burst  into  tears.  For  an  instant  he  loosed  her,  at 
that,  but  as  she  sobbingly  began  to  run  away  he  resumed 
his  former  hold,  pressing  her  against  him,  a  broken 
little  girl,  and  no  longer  the  triumphant  Sally  of  the 
morning.  Her  hand  was  to  her  eyes,  and  she  was  biting 
her  lip  to  restrain  her  sobs.  Toby  put  his  free  hand  up 
and  touched  hers,  held  it,  drew  it  away  from  her  wet 
face. 

"Sally,"  he  said.    "I  want  you.    Don't  cry,  Sally." 

His  arm  tightened.  His  face  was  close.  Although  she 
turned  away  her  head,  and  tried  to  wrench  herself  free^ 
Sally  knew  his  lips  were  relentlessly  following  her  own. 
She  was  conscious  of  all  the  joy  of  surrender,  incapable 
of  moving  from  those  strong  arms,  incapable  of  avoiding 
his  kiss.  Her  eyes  closed,  her  heart  rose;  she  was  limp 
in  his  embrace,  not  as  yet  returning  his  caresses,  but 
accepting  them  with  a  feeling  of  miserable  thankfulness. 
Her  hat  was  tilted  back,  and  she  felt  his  cheek  against 
hers,  his  body  against  her  own.  How  long  they  stood 
she  did  not  know;  but  at  last  she  put  her  hands  up,  put 
them  round  his  neck,  and  feverishly  kissed  him,  welcom- 
ing this  joy  that  was  half  pain. 

"D'you  love  me?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

They  were  alone  in  the  dark  street,  in  the  invisible 
world;  and  she  had  never  been  so  happy.  So  at  last 
Toby  had  his  way,  and  they  walked  about  the  streets 
for  an  hour,  until  it  was  long  past  the  time  when  Sally 
should  have  been  in  bed.  Only  then  did  they  part,  and 
Sally  was  half-undressed  when  she  heard  Toby  passing 
upon  his  way  upstairs.     Her  cheeks  were  burning,  her 


TOBY  76 

<,  her  heart  exultant.     Sometimes,  as  she  lay 

aring  the  long  night,  she  was  so  happy  that 

I  hardly  breathe.     But  a  moment  came  when 

s  seemed  overwhelmed  in  a  poignance  of  emotion 

,mbled  rather  a  terrible  apprehensiveness,  and  it 

A  that  Sally  felt  the  tears  trickling  from  her  eyes. 

only  the  reaction  from  excessive  joy;  but  she  was 

affected.    She  longed  again  for  Toby's  arms  to  be 

J.  her,  pressing  her  face  into  the  pillow  to  comfort 

Mf  with  the  pretence  that  he  was  still  there.     Ex- 

hi     ted,  she  slept. 

xvi 

All  the  next  day  she  could  not  work  for  preoccupation 
with  her  happiness.  She  was  mad  with  it,  and  reckless 
in  her  madness.  It  even,  when  rebuke  came  from  Miss 
Jubb,  gave  her  courage  to  mention  Madame  Gala.  And 
that  was  a  further  cause  for  delight,  since  Miss  Jubb's 
mouth  dropped  open  at  the  news  and  she  could  hardly 
speak  to  her  two  girls  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 
Sally,  chuckling  to  herself,  and  every  now  and  then 
grimacing  at  May  Pearcey,  abandoned  herself  to  antici- 
pations of  the  evening.  She  would  see  her  dear  Toby, 
would  show  how  much  she  loved  him,  would  feel  herself 
loved,  would  hear  and  say  all  the  little  secrets  they  had 
never  spoken  until  now.  She  would  know  at  last  what 
it  was  to  be  in  love,  and  with  the  man  who  loved  her. 
How  wonderful  it  was!  What  joy!  What  fun!  Sally 
could  not  conceal  her  grin  of  happiness.  Her  white  face 
was  as  if  it  had  become  plump,  so  immediately  did  hap- 
piness transfigure  her.  And  she  looked  at  silly  old  Miss 
Jubb,  and  soppy  May,  and  thought  how  they  had  no  lov- 
ers. May  had  her  boys — she  could  keep  them.  Sally 
had  Toby.  Toby  was  not  a  boy:  he  was  a  man.  He 
shaved;  she  had  felt  the  roughness  of  his  chin.     May's 


76  COQUETTE 

boys  looked  as  if  they  had  smooth  faces,  or  if 
it  made  their  skins  powdery.     Miss  Jubb  hac 
a  boy  at  all,  she  shouldn't  think.     You  could 
Miss  Jubb  as  a  young  girl.     She  must  be  quit 
old  as  Sally's  mother — perhaps  forty.     But  ma 
unlucky  to  strike  dad.     He  had  never  been  ai 
Not  like  Toby.    Toby  was  getting  almost  a  pound 
already,  he  said;  and  when  he  was  older  he  woul 
lots  of  money,  and  never  be  out  of  a  job,  becai 
worked  with  his  hands,  with  engines,  and  a  man         , 
understood  engines  would  never  want  for  work.      txe 
was  twenty,  and  he  kept  himself.    He  just  took  his  i  .eals 
with  his  aunt,  and  lived  in  his  own  room  the  rest  of  the 
time.    How  she  would  like  to  see  his  room.     She  longed 
for  them  both  to  get  older.     But  she  wanted  to  get  on 
herself,  first.     She  thought:  if  Toby's  out  all  day,  and 
we  just  have  a  little  home,   I  shall  be  able  .  .  .  She 
thought  she  might  be  a  dressmaker  herself,  and  employ 
twenty  hands,  and  have  a  waiting-room  that  was  all  grey- 
blue.     She  had  told  Toby  about  Madame  Gala,  and  how 
he  could  come  to  fetch  her  Saturdays,  and  they'd  have 
the  afternoons  together.     Sally  was  brimming  with  plans. 

In  the  middle  of  them  there  came  a  knock  at  Miss 
Jubb's  door.  Miss  Jubb  went,  thinking  it  might  be  a 
customer.  But  she  came  back  again  in  a  minute,  with 
a  face  even  longer  than  it  had  been  since  she  heard  Sally's 
news.  She  could  hardly  speak,  but  stood  against  the 
dingy  door,  which  she  held  closed,  and  swallowed  quickly 
before  she  could  say  a  word. 

"Sally  dear,  there's  a  man  here  from  the  hospital. 
Get  on  your  hat  and  coat,  there's  a  good  girl.  He  says 
your  mother's  been  taken  there.  She  turned  dizzy  just 
now  when  she  was  crossing  the  road,  and  was  knocked 
down  by  a  van,  and  run  over.     She's  asking  for  you. 


TOBY  77 

Sally.  You're  to  go.  It's  not  serious,  he  says.  So  don't 
worry  about  it.    You're  just  to  go  and  see  her." 

Mother  ?  Ma  knocked  down  by  a  van !  Sally  was  on 
her  feet  in  an  instant.  As  Miss  Jubb  went  out  again  to 
glean  further  details  from  the  man,  Sally  struggled  into 
her  hat  and  coat.  She  turned  with  a  callousness  which 
showed  that  she  did  not  in  the  least  realise  what  might 
have  happened,  and  addressed  the  startled  and  gaping 
May. 

"We  may  not  be  princesses,"  she  said  with  a  sort  of 
wild  gaiety;  "but  we  do  see  life!" 


xvii 

After  she  had  seen  her  mother  in  the  hospital  Sally 
was  again  aware  of  that  sinking  feeling  of  having  time 
to  fill — a  feeling  of  emptiness  of  immediate  plan, — which 
she  had  felt  in  Hyde  Park  on  the  Monday.  At  seven 
she  was  to  see  Toby  outside  the  house.  It  was  not  yet 
five.  What  was  she  to  do  ?  Not  go  back  to  Miss  Jubb's, 
that  was  certain!  Her  mother  had  been  lying  in  a  cot 
in  a  big  ward,  and  her  arm  was  bandaged,  and  she  said 
both  her  legs  felt  as  though  they  had  red-hot  nails  in 
them;  but  she  was  conscious,  and  they  had  told  her  she 
would  soon  be  about  again.  Sally  was  to  see  Mrs.  Rober- 
son  and  tell  her  the  news,  and  to  go  to  two  other  places 
to  let  them  know  that  Mrs.  Minto  would  not  be  able  to 
come  for  a  time.  And  she  was  to  be  a  good  girl,  and 
not  worry,  but  to  take  the  three  shillings  and  ninepence 
which  was  in  Mrs.  Minto's  purse,  and  look  after  herself, 
and  explain  to  the  landlady  what  had  happened  .  .  .  She 
had  a  host  of  things  to  do,  and  she  paid  her  three  calls 
within  ten  minutes.  So  far  the  question  of  money  had 
not  troubled  her.  She  did  not  think  that  three  shillings 
and  ninepence  was  very  little  to  live  on  for  perhaps  a 


78  COQUETTE 

month.  Her  emotions  at  the  moment  were  so  blithe  that 
all  she  perceived  in  herself  was  a  sense  of  liberty.  Ma 
would  not  be  worrying  her  every  minute  she  was  in- 
doors to  do  this  or  that,  and  not  to  do  the  other.  Ma 
would  not  be  talking  all  the  time  about  her  head.  Ma 
would  not  be  watching  her,  asking  what  she  was  doing, 
playing  the  policeman,  grumble,  grumble,  grumble.  It 
was  a  fine  liberation  for  Sally.  That  was  the  way  in 
which  she  saw  it. 

Her  first  shock  was  when  she  arrived  home  and  founa 
her  own  breakfast  dishes  still  strewn  about  the  table 
as  she  had  left  them,  the  fire  unlighted  and  the  old 
ashes  still  lying  in  the  grate  and  upon  the  hearth,  the 
bed  unmade.  She  was  sobered.  She  first  of  all  found  the 
oil,  filled  the  lamp,  and  set  a  match  to  it.  Then  she 
swept  the  hearth  and  carefully  made  a  small  fire.  The 
coal-blocks  took  a  long  time  to  catch,  as  they  always  did, 
and  they  quickly  burned  dull.  Upon  them  she  set  a  kettle, 
washed  the  dishes  in  cold  water,  and  laid  the  table  for 
tea.  The  kettle  took  a  century  to  boil,  and  she  knelt 
close  to  the  fire,  warming  herself  and  waiting  for  the 
first  spiral  of  steam.  Everything  now  made  her  feel 
splendid.  She  invented  a  game  that  she  was  married  to 
Toby,  and  that  she  was  expecting  him  home ;  so  that  for 
this  evening  all  her  work  was  thoroughly  done.  Even 
the  bed  was  made  with  care.  And  when  she  had  finished 
tea  she  cleared  away,  and  spread  a  little  old  red  cloth 
upon  the  table,  and  once  more  snuggled  close  to  the 
puny  fire.  As  she  did  so  all  her  thoughts  were  for  Toby. 
Already  she  began  to  listen  for  him,  although  it  was  long 
before  his  time.  Thought  of  her  mother's  accident  did 
not  disturb  her  at  all.  Thought  of  the  future  was  aban- 
doned. Only  the  sweet  delight  of  being  with  Toby  again 
was  her  incessant  reverie. 

At  last  she  heard  him,  and  started  to  her  feet.    Her  im- 


TOBY  79 

pulse  was  to  run  to  the  door  and  whisper  to  him  at 
once ;  but  on  the  way  thither  she  checked  herself.  Some 
scruple  of  prudence,  lest  he  should  think  her  too  eager 
for  him,  made  Sally  allow  the  steps  to  pass  on  up  the 
stairs.  But  for  all  that  she  watched  the  clock,  and 
listened  almost  passionately  for  any  sound  from  above. 
The  fire  died.  She  put  on  her  coat  and  hat,  standing 
near  the  fireplace  to  catch  the  last  waves  of  heat,  with 
her  foot  upon  the  fender  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
purplish  glow,  so  rapidly  fading  to  mauve  and  to  grey. 
She  was  tense  with  expectancy.  She  had  no  conscious- 
ness of  anything  but  her  strained  hearing.  Tick-tick-tick. 
The  clock  raced  on,  but  the  hands  all  the  time  appeared 
to  remain  still,  by  so  much  did  her  eager  heart  out- 
strip them. 

Then  there  was  a  thud  upstairs,  as  of  a  door  closed; 
and  quick  steps  sounded  in  Toby's  room.  He  stayed 
there  a  few  minutes,  his  feet  moving  a  little,  and  Sally 
guessed  that  he  was  washing  himself.  Then,  noisily,  he 
came  down  the  stairs  and  left  the  house.  He  was  barely 
past  the  door  when  Sally  blew  out  the  lamp;  but  she 
stood  mutely  in  the  darkness  for  more  than  a  minute 
afterwards.  Only  when  her  own  patience  was  gone  did 
she  obey  her  impulse  and  follow  him,  creeping  down 
the  stairs  in  the  subdued  brown  light  of  the  house.  Out 
of  doors  all  was  black.  She  peered  for  Toby.  He  was 
there  just  under  the  lamp  at  a  few  yards  distance,  and 
she  saw  him  move  farther  away  at  her  approach.  That 
action,  and  the  sense  of  him,  gave  Sally  the  most  extraor- 
dinary tremor  of  excitement  and  happiness,  and  her 
cheeks  grew  warm.  She  greeted  him  with  the  lightest 
touch  of  the  arm,  and  felt  in  return  his  hand  to  her  elbow. 
They  walked  without  speech  to  the  end  of  the  road,  and 
by  common  impulse  to  a  dark  turning  where  at«this  time 
of  the  evening  they  knew  there  would  be  no  passers;  and 


80  COQUETTE 

there  Toby  caught  her  in  his  arms.  There  was  no  moon, 
and  no  sound  in  the  street.  They  were  entirely  alone, 
and  separated  from  the  rest  of  mankind  by  an  impassable 
wall  of  obsession.  They  stood  pressed  close  to  one  an- 
other, kissing  from  time  to  time,  and  did  not  speak.  They 
had  at  first  nothing  to  say,  but  there  was  no  shyness  be- 
tween them.  They  were  absorbed  in  this  physical  contact. 
But  after  some  time  Sally  told  him  her  news,  and  made 
him  tell  her  what  he  had  done  during  the  day,  and  felt  a 
great  proprietary  interest  in  him  all  the  while.  They  spoke 
in  low  tones,  lovers  and  amorous  lovers  even  in  the  middle 
of  humdrum  confidences.  Toby  was  shocked  about  Mrs. 
Minto — far  more  shocked  than  Sally  had  been  or  could 
have  been;  but  she  airily  reassured  him  in  her  first  de- 
licious abandonment  to  a  sense  of  common  life.  She  said 
"Oo,  she's  all  right.  Quite  comfortable.  More  than  if 
she  was  at  home.  And  it's  nicer  for  me,  being  alone. 
See,  she  grumbles  at  me — always  at  it — what  Mrs.  Rober- 
son  says,  and  about  her  head,  and  what  I  ought  to  do, 
and  that.  'Tisn't  that  there's  really  anything  to  grumble 
at ;  only,  you  know,  it's  her  nature.  I  never  grumble. 
That's  one  thing  about  me.  Doesn't  matter  what  hap- 
pens, I  never  .  .  .  you  know  .  .  .  keep  on  at  it,  like 
mother  does.  What's  the  good?  Crying  won't  do  any 
good,  or  grumbling  either.  I  shall  be  happier  while  she's 
away — do  what  I  like.     Be  on  my  own." 

"Won't  you  be  lonely?"  Toby  asked. 

"Not  with  you.  Different  if  I  hadn't  got  you.  But  if 
I  get  frightened  I  shall  just  yell  for  you;  and  I  shall 
think  of  you  all  the  time,  upstairs,  and  wonder  if  you're 
thinking  of  me.    Will  you  be?" 

"Course  I  shall,"  Toby  swore,  hugging  her  until  she 
gasped.    "All  the  time." 

"Will  you?  It's  nice  to  have  somebody  to  .  .  .  you 
know»  like  you." 


TOBY  81 

"Is  it?"  he  asked  gruffly. 

"Don't  you  feel  like  that?"  she  asked  artfully.  Her 
reward,  another  choking  hug,  was  immediately  forthcom- 
ing. "You  are  strong,"  Sally  went  on,  and  with  a  sense 
of  daring  and  ownership  and  pride  felt  his  arm  for 
muscle.  "I'm  strong.  In  a  way.  Not  massive,  or  any- 
thing of  that  kind.  I  can  stand  a  lot.  Mustn't  think 
I'm  weak  because  I'm  small;  but  .  .  .  Well,  you  know 
what  I  mean." 

"Strong,  but  got  no  strength,"  suggested  Toby.  Sally 
shook  him,  chuckling  proudly  at  his  wit  and  will  to 
tease.  It  was  like  shaking  a  tree,  so  immovable  was  he  by 
the  exerted  strength  of  her  weak  arms. 

"Saucy!"  she  said.  "Though  I  s'pose  it's  what  I 
meant.  Toby,  you  do  like  .  .  .  you  know  .  .  .  tins?" 
she  suddenly  asked,  not  bent  upon  a  caress,  but  in  a  sud- 
den doubt.  Her  arms  were  warmly  about  his  neck  as  she 
spoke.  Toby  left  her  no  doubt.  He  was  not  talkative; 
he  had  no  ready  flow  of  compliment;  but  he  could  speak 
the  language  which  a  young  girl  in  love  best  understands. 
He  could  crush  her  almost  to  ecstatic  forgetfulness  in 
his  vigorous  arms.  Thus  embraced,  Sally  was  in  Para- 
dise, and  her  one  desire  was  to  remain  there,  in  a 
sort  of  annulment  of  every  other  interest;  but  even  in 
Paradise  she  found  her  thoughts  irrepressible.  So  she 
chattered  on,  while  Toby  grunted  or  did  not  say  anything, 
or  occasionally  grew  marvellously  glib  and  told  some- 
thing about  his  work,  or  an  anecdote  about  himself  which 
she  sometimes  thought  he  must  have  read  somewhere. 
And  ever  and  anon  they  were  lost  in  silence,  and  their 
closeness  to  one  another,  and  their  long  breathless  kisses, 
which  made  Sally  lean  her  forehead  against  Toby's 
breast  and  enjoy  exquisitely  the  sense  of  being  weaker 
than  he  and  of  surrendering  all  her  will  to  his. 

If  it  had  not  been  so  cold  they  might  have  stood  in  this 


82  COQUETTE 

way  for  the  whole  evening;  but  the  wind  was  searching, 
and  presently  they  began  to  walk  along,  he  with  his 
arm  about  her  so  closely  that  they  walked  almost  with 
one  motion.  Toby  smoked  his  cigarettes,  and  when  he 
wanted  one  he  put  his  left  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  drew 
out  a  cigarette,  and  Sally  felt  for  his  matches,  and  struck 
one,  and  held  it  for  him,  and  received  smoke  in  her  face, 
and  blew  the  match  out,  and  received  a  kiss,  Toby  all 
the  time  never  ceasing  to  hold  her  within  his  right  arm. 
She  wished  there  were  more  cigarettes,  so  much  did  she 
enjoy  the  sense  of  intimacy.  Sometimes  she  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  to  put  her  arm  round  Toby's  waist, 
and  give  him  a  little  private  hug  of  her  own,  to  show 
how  happy  she  was.  She  loved  the  darkness  more  and 
more,  because  it  made  her  bolder.  And  the  sky  was 
so  dark  that  the  lamps  were  like  small  flickers,  and  if 
anybody  passed  it  was  impossible  for  a  face  to  be  seen. 
And  Sally  was  alone  in  this  dream  world  with  Toby. 
She  wished  it  might  continue  like  this  for  ever,  night  and 
day,  beautifully  quiet  and  secret,  with  Toby  all  the  time 
loving  her  as  much  as  he  did  now.  It  was  lovely.  It 
was  lovely.  She  was  happy.  She  did  not  feel  tired  or 
cross  or  mean  or  worldly  any  longer ;  but  only  happy,  and 
full  of  love. 

At  last  they  heard  a  clock  striking  eleven,  and  Sally 
gave  a  jump. 

"Mercy!  Eleven  o'clock.  Must  go  home.  Good  job 
mother's  not  there.  Else  she'd  be  asking  questions."  She 
laughed  as  she  spoke.  "She'd  want  to  know  something. 
I  shouldn't  half  have  a  time.  'Eleven  o'clock:  where 
you  been?'  I  shouldn't  mind.  I'd  take  no  notice.  I 
don't  take  any  notice  of  her,  because  .  .  .  you  know  .  .  . 
it  encourages  her  if  you  take  any  notice.  Oo,  the  way 
she  keeps  on.  You  wouldn't  believe.  Drive  me  to  drink, 
it  would,  if  I  had  it  all  the  time.  But  she's  not  there.  .  .  ." 


TOBY  83 

Sally  hugged  Toby.  "Isn't  it  lovely !  Nobody  to  grumble. 
Nobody  to  mind  what  time  I  get  in.  .  .  .  Well,  you  know 
what  I  mean.  I  must  go  in  now."  But  when  it  came 
to  the  moment  of  parting  she  clung  to  him.  "I  don't 
want  to  go.  I  don't  want  to  go,"  she  cried.  "It's  been  so 
nice,  and  I've  been  so  happy."  To  her  horror  she  felt  that 
she  had  begun  to  cry.  With  an  effort  she  pulled  herself 
free.  "Well,  I  suppose  I  must.  And  you'll  think  of  me, 
won't  you?  Just  downstairs.  And  I'll  think  of  you,  and 
wish  you  were  there.  .  .  .  Oh,  fancy  me  saying  that! 
Toby  .  .  ."  She  was  passionately  serious.  "Say  you 
love  me!" 

"Love  you!"  said  Toby. 

She  turned  and  waved  to  him  when  she  was  a  (ew 
steps  away,  flew  back  to  his  arms,  and  stayed  there  for  a 
few  minutes.  Then,  this  time  with  more  resolution,  she 
ran  towards  home,  letting  herself  in  with  a  sense  of 
brazen  guilt  at  her  lateness,  and  treading  softly  up  the 
stairs.  When  she  was  in  the  room,  she  shuddered  a  little, 
at  the  cold,  and  in  her  excitement.  Then  she  lighted  the 
lamp  and  looked  at  herself  in  the  mirror — at  her  bright, 
betraying  eyes,  at  her  mouth,  which  was  also  betraying, 
and  at  her  hair  and  cheeks  and  brows  and  hands.  She 
was  laughing,  but  not  aloud.  Her  laughter  was  the 
mirth  of  happy  excitement.  And,  still  so  happy,  she 
began  to  undress;  and  then  thought  she  would  make 
herself  a  cup  of  tea.  So  she  finished  undressing  while 
the  kettle  boiled,  and  was  sitting  up  in  bed  drinking  her 
tea  when  she  heard  Toby  go  upstairs.  His  movements 
made  her  start,  and  the  tea  dribbed  over  the  side  of  the 
cup.  Into  her  head  suddenly  came  a  memory  of  her 
own  words:  "And  I'll  think  of  you,  and  wish  you  were 
there." 

"And  so  I  do,"  she  suddenly  whispered.  "So  I  do. 
Oh,  I'm  wicked.    I'm  wicked !"    She  was  trembling,  and 


84  COQUETTE 

forgetting  everything,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  wall 
vaguely  grey  before  her,  outside  the  pale  ray  of  the  lamp. 
Mechanically,  she  sipped  again,  and  the  tea  ran  warmly 
into  her  throat.  "No,  I'm  not  wicked,"  Sally  argued. 
"I'm  not.  'Tisn't  wicked  to  love  any  one  like  I  do  Toby. 
It's  wonderful.  Fancy  me  in  love!  And  Toby  .  .  . 
well,  liking  me.  Oo,  he  is  strong  and  big.  Wonder  if 
he's  brave  ?  I  should  think  so.  You  couldn't  be  as  strong 
as  him  and  not  be  brave.  Oh,  I  love  him,"  She  re- 
membered their  caresses,  unembarrassed  and  exulting. 
She  knew  what  it  was  to  be  loved.  She  knew  .  .  .  she 
knew  everything.  Everything  that  made  people  love  each 
other  and  want  to  be  always  together.  Her  mind  per- 
sistently went  on  kneading  into  a  general  memory  the 
detached  memories  of  the  evening,  and  she  was  excited 
and  full  of  longing  for  Toby.  Slowly  she  drank  her  tea, 
without  thinking  of  it  at  all,  but  accepting  its  comfort. 
Her  shoulders  began  to  feel  cold,  and  she  shivered  as  she 
finished  the  cup. 

Sally  slid  out  of  bed  to  replace  the  cup  and  to  put  out 
the  lamp.  As  her  hand  was  outstretched  she  thought  she 
heard  a  faint  noise,  but  a  moment's  startled  listening  re- 
assured her.  It  had  been  nothing.  She  lowered  the  wick, 
and  blew  out  the  remaining  small  blue  rim  of  light. 
Another  instant,  and  she  would  have  been  back  in  bed, 
snuggled  down  in  the  warmth.  But  at  that  instant  she 
heard  a  further  sound,  this  time  the  turning  of  the  door 
handle.  She  froze  with  sudden  dread.  In  the  darkness 
she  could  see  nothing, 

"Who's  there?"  she  whispered. 

The  door  must  slightly  have  opened.  She  could  now 
see  it  open  in  the  gloom. 

"Sally," 

It  was  Toby.    Joy  took  the  place  of  fear.    He  was  in- 


TOBY  85 

side  the  door,  and  she  was  in  his  arms,  and  the  door  was 
closed  again  behind  them. 

"My  dear,"  Sally  was  saying,  in  a  thick  little  caressing 
voice.    "My  dear." 

"Had  to  come,"  mumbled  Toby,  hoarsely.  "Thought 
of  you  all  alone.     I  wanted  you.     See,  I  had  to  come." 

"Of  course  you  did,"  murmured  Sally,  her  spirit  leap- 
ing up  and  up  in  tempestuous  excitement.  "Toby,  you 
do  love  me?    You  do  truly  love  me?" 

She  had  no  sense  then  of  anything  but  her  love  for 
him  and  his  love  for  her.  She  was  carried  right  past 
caution  and  thought.  She  was  in  his  arms,  and  she  was 
happy.  And  Toby,  a  dim  figure  of  burly  strength,  was 
kissing  her  until  she  was  blinded  and  choking  with  excite- 
ment beyond  all  she  had  ever  felt.  Everything  conspired 
to  affect  her — all  suppressions,  all  knowledges,  all  curios- 
ities and  vanities.  Nothing  but  caution  could  have  re- 
strained her,  and  caution  was  forgotten.  She  was  ve- 
hemently moved  and  beyond  judgment  or  reflection.  Her 
one  desire  was  to  give  herself  to  the  man  she  loved, 
the  man  who  loved  her.  And  the  opportunity  was  upon 
them  as  they  were  in  the  first  fever  of  their  passion. 


BOOK  TWO:    GAGA 


BOOK  TWO:   GAGA 


TEN  days  later,  Sally  began  her  work  with  Madame 
Gala.  She  arrived  punctually,  but  found  Nosey  be- 
fore her,  keeping  a  record  of  arrivals.  She  also  found 
one  or  two  other  girls,  who  stared  at  her  in  an  inquisi- 
tive fashion  and  went  on  talking  among  themselves.  Only 
when  a  forewoman — Miss  Summers — arrived  did  the  big 
room  take  on  any  air  of  being  used  for  work,  and  within 
five  minutes  all  the  girls  were  in  a  state  of  preparation. 
Sally  saw  that  they  all  had  sleeved  pinafores  or  overalls ; 
she  had  none.  As  she  had  not  a  farthing  to  buy  material 
to  make  such  a  thing,  and  had  only  a  couple  of  slices  of 
break  and  margarine  in  her  coat  pocket  for  lunch,  and 
would  have  to  walk  all  the  way  home,  Sally  could  not 
fight  against  the  chilling  of  her  heart  which  quick  glances 
about  the  workroom  produced.  The  girls  were  of  all 
sorts  and  sizes,  some  of  them  smartly  dressed  and  coiffed ; 
others  wearing  clothes  less  expensive  even  than  her  own, 
and  with  a  general  air  of  not  knowing  how  to  make  the 
best  of  themselves.  Looking  round  at  the  faces  she  could 
see  none  that  indicated  cleverness  or  special  intelligence. 
One  ferrety-looking  little  thing  seemed  as  though  she 
might  be  either  sharp  or  half-witted ;  a  tall  dark  girl  who 
was  rather  pretty  and  had  beautiful  hair  used  her  hands 
with  assurance;  but  observation  did  not  make  Sally  feel 
ashamed  of  herself  or  of  her  ability.  These  girls  could 
do  almost  as  they  were  told,  but  not  quite.  But  the  pina- 
fore was  a  serious  question.  Sally  had  never  been  used 
to  such  a  thing.    She  had  not  even  brought  an  apron. 

89 


90  COQUETTE 

While  the  others  settled  down,  whispering  among  them- 
selves and  looking  sharply  at  Sally,  the  forewoman,  after 
a  greeting,  ignored  her  until  she  had  attended  to  all  that 
was  more  important.  In  her  hands  was  the  giving  out 
of  work.  Sally  saw  that  she  was  supposed  to  know  what 
each  girl  could  do.  She  also  saw  that  some  girls  were 
favourites  and  others  not.  If  she  were  to  make  progress 
here  she  must  be  a  favourite.  She  must  show  quickly  that 
she  had  the  brains  and  could  work  well.  It  took  a  very 
short  time  to  make  her  realise  that.  For  a  moment  she 
was  inclined  to  be  over-confident ;  but  that  mood  collapsed 
before  a  side  glance  and  a  titter  from  two  of  the  girls. 
Their  instinctive  ridicule  warned  and  stiffened  Sally. 
They  did  not  know  her.  She  would  have  to  prove  her 
qualities.  She  then  concentrated  upon  Miss  Summers, 
watching  how  she  turned,  how  she  smiled  and  frowned, 
and  how  she  explained  what  had  to  be  done  to  each  girl 
who  was  receiving  new  work.  Miss  Summers  was  a  short 
stout  woman  with  cat's  eyes  and  a  long  nose.  She  licked 
her  lips  like  a  cat.  She  was  inconsistent  and  short-tem- 
pered ;  but  Sally  afterwards  found  that  while  she  was  ex- 
traordinarily vain  she  was  rarely  unkind.  But  in  general 
she  was  severe,  because  severity  was  the  only  course  to 
pursue  with  these  chattering  girls,  who  were  full  of 
scratches  and  jealousies,  and  who  would  have  taken  ad- 
vantage of  weakness  with  rapid  unscrupulousness.  So  the 
little  stout  woman,  feline  and  easily  exasperated,  was  a 
good  person  to  control  the  room.  Her  kindness  might  be 
part  of  her  vanity,  but  it  was  not  assumed.  She  loved 
her  work,  and  she  was  always  glad  to  praise  good  work 
from  the  girls,  and  to  encourage  it  by  favouritism  to  good 
workers.  It  was  not  the  pretty  ones  or  the  sly  ones  who 
were  the  favourites.  It  was  the  workers.  Following  each 
girl  with  her  eye,  Sally  could  not  observe  that  at  the  be- 


GAGA  91 

ginning;  but  it  did  not  take  her  long  to  add  it  to  her 
now  formidable  collection  of  facts. 

When  at  last  Sally  was  called  to  Miss  Summers's  side^ 
and  questioned,  she  walked  the  length  of  the  room  feeling 
as  though  her  legs  had  no  joints,  and  as  though  her 
shoulders  were  fixed.  There  were  only  eleven  girls  in 
the  room  besides  herself,  but  they  were  all  looking  at  her. 
And  when  she  stood  before  Miss  Summers  in  her  little 
black  dress  she  looked  so  slight,  with  her  slim  body  and 
thin  pale  face,  that  several  of  the  girls  went  on  with  their 
work  again  immediately,  having  lost  interest  in  her. 
Sally,  confronted  by  Miss  Summers's  catlike  eyes,  which 
were  a  gooseberry  green,  twisted  her  fingers,  and  blurted 
out: 

"I'm  sorry,  I  got  no  pinafore.  I  didn't  know  I  had  to 
have  one." 

She  was  relieved  when  Miss  Summers  smiled  and 
licked  her  lips. 

"Well,  let's  make  you  one  for  a  start-off.    Shall  we?" 

Sally  could  have  fallen  down,  so  astonished  was  she  at 
this  retort.    Still  she  blurted  further : 

"I  got  no  money  for  the  material." 

Again  Miss  Summers  smiled.  She  might  almost  have 
given  a  purr.  She  rubbed  her  cold  nose  with  the  back 
of  her  hand,  like  a  cat  washing  its  face, 

"That's  all  right,"  she  said.  "We'll  find  some  stuff. 
It  can  come  off  your  wages.  I  want  to  see  what  you  can 
do,  d'you  see?  And  that's  as  good  a  way  as  any.  I 
shall  be  able  to  notice  how  you  do  it,  and  give  you  a 
word  of  advice  if  you  want  it.  And  you  won't  waste 
much  time,  and  you  won't  waste  much  material.  And  so 
why  not?  Just  stand  here  while  I  get  the  length."  As 
she  measured  the  length  of  Sally's  frock,  and  allowed 
a  few  additional  inches  for  the  pinafore,  she  sharply  said 
in  a  low  voice  that  only  Sally  could  hear :  "That's  right ; 


92  COQUETTE 

never  use  scent.  It's  vulgar.  From  the  look  of  you  I 
was  afraid  you'd  use  scent  and  be  saucy.  But  I'm  glad 
you  aren't." 

"Oh,  no,  miss,"  answered  Sally.  Quite' truthfully,  she 
added:  "I've  never  thought  of  using  scent.  I  don't  like 
it.  Only  common  girls  use  it."  Unconsciously  she  was 
emphasising  all  her  sibilants. 

"Well,  some  of  the  girls  here  do,"  said  Miss  Summers. 
"Hold  still." 

The  pinafore  was  a  simple  matter  for  both  Miss  Sum- 
mers and  Sally;  and  before  the  morning  was  over  Miss 
Summers  had  visited  Madame  Gala. 

"The  new  little  girl's  a  quick  worker,"  she  said.  "Very 
clever.    I  think  she'll  be  very  useful." 

At  which  Madame  Gala  raised  her  straight  brows  and 
looked  piercingly  at  Miss  Summers.  If  Sally  could  have 
heard  and  appreciated  the  speech  as  Madame  Gala  did 
she  would  have  known  that  she  had  become  a  favourite 
at  a  bound.  She  did  not  even  guess  it,  so  absorbed  was 
she  in  deserving  commendation,  until  the  end  of  the 
week,  when  she  received  her  full  wages,  without  deduc- 
tion. She  was  tempted.  How  easy  to  say  nothing,  and 
take  the  risk  of  it  being  remembered!  She  could  easily 
say  she  was  sorry  she  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  Then 
some  strong  impulse  of  honesty  made  her  go  up  to  Miss 
Summers. 

"You  haven't  taken  off  the  money  for  the  pinafore," 
she  whispered. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Miss  Summers.  "Good  girl 
to  come  to  me  about  it." 

Good  girl!  Sally  wondered  if  she  really  was  such  a 
very  good  ^irl. 


GAGA  93 

ii 

She  was  not,  morally,  being  a  very  good  girl ;  for  her 
mother  was  still  in  the  hospital,  and  she  and  Toby 
were  taking  risks.  So  far  there  had  been  no  discovery; 
but  they  were  getting  bolder,  and  only  the  day  before 
going  to  Madame  Gala's,  when  his  aunt  had  been  out 
for  the  afternoon  and  evening,  Toby  had  had  Sally  to  tea 
in  his  aunt's  room,  and  they  had  sat  together  over  a  good 
fire,  and  had  silently  made  love  to  each  other  for  hours. 
The  more  love-making  they  had,  the  more  they  wanted, 
and  Sally  had  been  living  all  the  week  for  the  time  she 
spent  with  Toby.  But  her  mother  would  be  coming  home 
soon,  even  though  she  would  be  unable  to  work;  and 
both  knew  that  the  wild  ecstasy  would  end  with  her  return. 
It  was  that,  probably,  which  made  them  less  careful,  or, 
if  not  less  careful,  at  any  rate  less  cautious  in  the  use  of 
their  opportunity.  Sally  had  a  dread,  which  she  would 
not  face,  and  if  Toby  had  any  dread  he  never  told  her. 
For  all  her  feeling  of  intimacy  with  him,  Sally  never 
reached  below  his  manner  and  his  strength;  and  her 
ignorance  of  him  it  was  that  gave  the  whole  relation  its 
charm  for  her.  He  was  mysterious,  a  compelling  strength 
outside  her,  a  strange  man  who  responded  to  all  her  wishes 
and  who  loved  her  as  she  wished  to  be  loved — brutally  and 
dominatingly.  She  was  dazzled  and  infatuated.  But 
already,  in  her  first  days  with  Madame  Gala,  she  had  re- 
covered sufficient  of  her  old  coolness  to  be  set  upon  definite 
personal  success.  This  was  her  strongest  impulse.  Her 
love  was  outside  it,  a  gratification  now,  and  not  a  torment. 
She  had  no  sense  whatever  of  wrongdoing;  only  of  hos- 
tility to  her  mother  because  her  mother's  return  would 
interrupt  the  tenour  of  her  life.  Once  only  she  said  to 
Toby,  secure  in  her  trust  of  his  love  and  care :  "Toby  .  .  . 
if  I  have  a  baby,  you'll  .  .  .  you'll  marry  me,  won't  you  ?'* 


94  COQUETTE 

And  Toby  gave  her  the  necessary  promise  in  obvious  good 
faith.  Neither,  therefore,  troubled  about  the  future. 
They  were  both  too  anxious  to  hve  only  in  the  exhilarat- 
ing present. 

But  at  last  Mrs.  Minto  returned,  and  by  that  time 
Sally  was  living  upon  money  borrowed  from  Mrs.  Perce, 
her  one  friend  and  protector.  Mrs.  Minto  could  not 
work.  She  wrote  to  Aunt  Emmy,  and  Aunt  Emmy  helped 
her  from  her  prizewinnings,  and  for  several  weeks  they 
were  thus  enabled  to  stave  off  want.  Once  Mrs.  Minto 
was  back  at  home  the  old  order  of  parsimony  was  re- 
vived, and  it  cost  them  very  little  to  keep  life  going  on 
from  day  to  day.  Sally's  seven  shillings  a  week  helped. 
And  at  last  Mrs.  Minto  was  allowed  to  go  out,  and  Mrs. 
Roberson  took  her  back.  Slowly,  half-starving,  they 
managed  to  exist.  Sally  still  had  her  evenings  with  Toby, 
with  their  glory  dimmed;  and  as  the  weeks  went  on  she 
knew  that  she  was  safe  from  the  causes  of  her  dread,  and 
carried  herself  jauntily,  and  she  began  to  earn  a  little 
extra  money  by  working  in  the  evenings  for  Miss  Jubb. 
This  meant  that  she  saw  Toby  less  often,  and  Toby  now 
had  a  man  friend  from  the  works  where  he  was  employed, 
and  was  sometimes  with  this  man  Jackson.  Sally  had  her 
seventeenth  birthday:  her  figure  had  improved,  and  so 
had  her  appearance.  She  was  still  meagre,  because  she 
had  not  enough  to  eat ;  but  some  compensation  of  Nature 
allowed  her  to  maintain  her  health  and  to  mature. 

One  day,  when  she  had  gone  to  practise  upon  Mrs. 
Perce's  piano,  as  she  had  not  done  all  the  time  they  had 
been  away  from  the  flat,  Sally  attracted  Mrs.  Perce's  at- 
tention by  singing  unusually  well.  Her  friend  listened; 
and  then  looked  into  the  room. 

"What's  that  you're  singing?"  she  demanded.  "Suits 
you.  You'll  never  be  able  to  play  the  piano,  Sally,  be- 
cause you'd  have  to  practise  every  day  for  hours  to  do 


GAGA  96 

that;  but  you've  got  a  big  voice  for  your  body.  I  sup- 
pose your  lungs  are  good.  Ever  heard  me  sing?  It's 
like  a  baby  crying.  But  that  song  'The  Love  Path'  suits 
you.  You  might  do  something  with  your  voice.  Not 
much,  I  expect;  but  something.  You  just  try  and  get 
hold  of  somebody  who  knows  about  such  things.  Might 
do  a  turn  on  the  Halls.  You  never  know.  If  I  come 
across  anybody  I'll  ask  them ;  but  I  don't  see  many  people 
now,  and  what  I  do  are  all  in  the  'public'  line.  It's  worth 
thinking  about,  for  a  girl  like  you,  with  your  way  to 
make.  Unless  you  marry,  of  course ;  and  you  say  you're 
not  going  to  do  that  in  a  hurry.  So  there  you  are.  Make 
the  most  of  yourself,  I  say;  and  let  the  Devil  go  hang 
himself  if  he's  a  mind  to  it." 

Sally,  who  had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,  prom- 
ised. For  a  time  she  was  flattered  by  the  vision  of  sing- 
ing to  audiences.  But  that  soon  faded.  She  met  nobody 
outside  Madame' s,  except  for  one  or  two  young  men  who 
spoke  to  her  on  the  way  home;  and  so  she  kept  to  her 
sewing  and  machining  for  Miss  Jubb.  It  pleased  her  to 
be  able  to  tell  Toby,  who,  however,  frowned,  and  did 
not  seem  pleased. 

"Seems  to  me  you're  always  thinking  you'll  do  some- 
thing wonderful,"  he  said  sourly.  "Doesn't  seem  to 
come  to  much,  as  fur  as  I  can  see." 

"Oh,  doesn't  it!"  cried  Sally.  She  shook  herself  free 
from  him,  and  marched  off  in  anger.  And  Toby  did  not 
follow.  It  was  a  tiff.  By  the  next  evening  both  were 
contrite,  and  the  matter  was  never  spoken  of  again.  All 
the  same,  Sally  remembered  it.  She  remembered  it  the 
more  unforgivingly  because  Toby's  remark  had  been  true. 
Nothing  so  far  had  happened  to  prove  definitely  that  her 
confidence  in  exceptional  powers  was  justified.  He  was 
jealous  of  her!  Sally  laughed  almost  scornfully.  Fancy 
a  big  fellow  like  Toby  being  jealous  of  a  little  thing  like 


96  COQUETTE 

her.  Men!  They  were  all  alike.  All  right  as  long  as 
they  were  playing  first  fiddle !  That  was  it :  Toby  didn't 
want  her  to  have  a  chance  at  all.  He  wanted  her  always 
to  be  number  two.     Sally  shook  her  head  obstinately. 

"All  right,  Master  Toby!"  she  said  to  herself.  There 
was  no  more  in  it  than  that — a  momentary  revolt; — but 
once  the  notion  had  arisen  it  began  to  revolve  in  her 
mind.  She  could  not  remember  if  she  had  ever  told  Toby 
of  her  plan  to  be  a  successful  dressmaker;  but  what  would 
he  say  to  that?  Would  he  like  his  wife  to  make  money, 
and  to  have  real  ladies  coming  to  her  as  they  did  to 
Madam?  It  seemed  from  this  that  he  would  not.  He 
preferred  to  be  top  dog.  Sally  was  to  be  nothing  upon 
her  own  account — merely  to  fetch  and  carry,  and  do 
what  she  was  told,  and  husband  his  paltry  little  earnings. 
He'd  rather  be  poor  than  owe  anything  to  his  wife,  in 
case  she  became  bigger  than  himself.  Was  that  it  ?  Was 
that  Master  Toby's  idea?  If  so,  it  was  not  Sally's.  She 
suddenly  understood  that  Toby  thought  of  her  as  his  wife, 
as  his  chattel ;  and  that  she  had  never  ceased,  except  in  the 
passionate  excitement  of  their  early  relations,  to  think 
of  herself  as  one  who  belonged  to  herself  and  was  going 
to  make  some  sort  of  life  for  herself.  This  came  as  a 
shock  to  Sally.  She  had  never  thought  of  it  before.  She 
was  beginning  to  grow  up.  From  that  time  she  first  began 
to  criticise  Toby.  Until  then  he  had  been  the  burly  man 
she  loved.  Her  thoughts  of  him,  as  her  love  for  him, 
had  been  merely  physical.  She  was  now  to  search  more 
deeply  into  the  needs  of  life,  still  crudely,  but  examin- 
ingly.  It  was  not  enough,  then,  to  love  a  man  if  you 
were  going  to  have  something  else  to  do  in  life  besides 
love  him.  The  idea  was  new.  It  puzzled  her.  It  was 
something  outside  the  novelettes  she  had  read,  and  out- 
side her  own  precocious  thoughts.  Love  was  love — ^all 
knew  that.     She  loved  Toby;  she  had  given  herself  to 


GAGA  97 

him ;  they  were  practically  married ;  and  now  it  appeared 
that  something  was  wrong  somewhere.  Toby  did  not 
want  her  to  be  Sally:  he  wanted  her  to  be  just  a  sort  of 
moon-Toby.  Another  girl  would  have  wanted  nothing 
better.  Sally  told  herself  that  she  was  different.  She 
went  out  by  herself,  one  evening,  instead  of  working; 
and  walked  up  to  Highgate.  And  as  she  went  up  the  hill 
she  sang  to  herself  the  ballad  "The  Love  Path."    It  began : 

"When  you  and  I  go  down  the  love  path  together. 
Birds  shall  be  singing  and  the  day  so  long," 

and  she  could  play  the  simple  accompaniment  to  it  with 
very  few  mistakes.  She  remembered  Mrs.  Perce's  words. 
What  if  she  could  do  something  with  her  voice?  Did  she 
sing  well?  She  allowed  herself  to  glimpse  another  glor- 
ious future. 

In  the  middle  of  the  walk  Sally  stopped  dead. 

"Oh,  doesn't  it  .  .  ."  she  said  aloud.  "Well,  we'll  just 
see.  We'll  just  see  about  it.  That's  all."  And  having 
as  it  were  made  her  formal  protest  she  resumed  the  jour- 
ney, and  arrived  home  tired  out,  ready  for  bed;  and  be- 
fore she  had  been  in  bed  more  than  two  minutes  she 
was  fast  asleep,  dreaming  of  motor  cars  and  footmen 
standing  on  the  pavement  with  fur  rugs  in  their  hands. 
In  her  dream  she  was  alone  in  the  cars.  Even  the 
chauffeur  had  no  smallest  resemblance  to  Toby.  And  yet 
she  still  loved  him  with  all  her  heart,  and  when  she  was 
with  him  she  felt  that  she  extraordinarily  belonged  to 
him.  Love  had  again  at  last  encountered  ambition,  and 
battle  was  joined. 


98  COQUETTE 

iii 

Dreams  of  luxurious  motor-cars,  and  footmen  with  fur 
capes  and  long  fawn-coloured  overcoats,  holding  fur  rugs 
to  cover  her  knees,  were  now  constant  in  Sally's  mind. 
She  saw  such  things  occasionally  in  Regent  Street,  and 
loved  to  look  in  at  the  windows  of  motor  broughams  up- 
holstered in  fawn-coloured  corduroy,  with  arm  straps  and 
little  hanging  vases  of  fresh  flowers.  The  freshness  of 
these  cars  was  her  delight.  She  had  no  notion  of  the 
income  it  was  necessary  to  have  in  order  to  possess  such 
cars,  with  their  attendant  footman  and  chauffeur ;  but  that 
income,  whatever  it  was,  became  her  ideal.  Money !  Lots 
of  money!  With  money  you  could  have  comfort.  When 
she  said  that,  and  was  warned  by  conventional  wiseacres 
that  money  did  not  produce  happiness,  she  sneered  at 
the  timid  ones.  "Bet  Fd  be  happy,"  she  said.  "What's 
happiness?"  She  wondered  what  it  was.  For  her  it  had 
been  oblivion  in  Toby's  arms.  It  was  so  no  longer.  That 
was  not  all  she  desired.  It  was  not  by  any  means  all. 
And  she  shrank  more  and  more  strongly  from  a  life 
of  squalid  toil  such  as  her  mother  had  had — such  as  she 
would  still  have  had  if  Mr.  Minto  had  been  a  sober  man. 
All  her  life  she  had  slaved  and  slaved,  and  now  she  was 
worn  out  with  it.  Not  for  Sally !  She  had  other  plans. 
She  had  gone  to  the  West  End,  and  the  West  End  was 
in  her  blood.  She  was  looking  round  at  life  with  some  of 
her  old  calculating  determination  to  exploit  it.  The  death 
of  her  father,  the  passion  for  Toby, — these  had  distracted 
lier.  With  increasing  confidence  in  her  position  at 
Madam's,  and  a  new  sense  of  what  money  could  actually 
do  in  the  way  of  procuring  food  and  clothes  and  ordinary 
or  extraordinary  physical  comforts,  Sally  had  returned 
to  her  old  faith.  She  began  to  have  a  little  money  to  buy 
things  for  herself.     Once  or  twice  Miss  Summers  gave 


GAGA  99 

her  quite  good-sized  pieces  of  material,  and  there  were 
always  scraps  to  be  gathered  and  utilized.  And  Sally  was 
enabled  to  dress  carefully.  She  became  the  smartest  of 
the  girls  in  the  room,  for  she  had  a  natural  sense  of 
smartness.  The  other  girls  did  not  like  her,  but  they 
all  envied  her  and  admired  her.  It  was  not  that  she  was 
unpopular;  but  that  they  felt  in  her  the  hard  determina- 
tion to  get  on,  and  were  resentful  of  her  manifest  ability 
to  achieve  what  she  meant  to  do. 

The  other  girls  were  all  sorted  out  in  Sally's  mind. 
There  was  not  one  of  them  into  whose  nature  she  had 
not  some  biting  insight.  She  had  become  so  practised 
that  she  knew  all  their  dresses  (as  of  course  all  the  others 
did,  so  that  a  new  one  was  an  event),  and  knew  what 
everything  they  owned  had  cost.  She  could  recognise 
anything  that  had  been  dyed,  any  brooch  or  adornment, 
any  stockings.  She  would  have  made  a  good  house-de- 
tective. But  she  never  told  tales.  If  she  knew,  she  knew, 
and  that  was  all.  It  was  not  for  Sally  to  play  the  police- 
man. All  knowledge  went  into  her  memory.  It  would 
be  devastatingly  produced  on  the  occasion  of  a  row,  but 
Sally  rarely  quarrelled.  With  her,  nothing  ever  came  to 
a  quarrel.  There  was  no  need  for  it  to  do  so.  She 
was  neither  jealous  nor  censorious.  One  does  not  quarrel 
with  one  who  neither  loves  nor  blames  nor  is  stupid  or 
too  anxious  to  show  cleverness.  Sally  merely  "was,"  and 
the  other  girls  knew  it.  For  this  reason  she  was  not 
liked,  but  neither  was  she  feared  or  unpopular.  They 
did  not  hide  things  from  her,  but  they  did  not  show  them 
eagerly.  Sally  was  Sally.  She  enjoyed  being  Sally.  She 
meant  always  to  be  Sally. 

And  at  last  there  came  into  Sally's  life,  when  she  had 
been  at  Madame  Gala's  for  about  six  months,  a  new  in- 
terest, and  a  singular  one.  One  day,  when  they  were  all 
working  very  hard,  and  the  electric  Hght  was  on,  Madame 


100  COQUETTE 

came  into  the  workroom  with  another  person.  And  this 
person  was  a  young  man  with  a  grey,  thin  face,  rather 
tall  and  stooping,  with  a  hesitating  manner,  and  a  gen- 
eral air  of  weakness.  He  followed  Madame  Gala  round 
the  room  in  an  idle  way,  nodding  to  several  of  the  girls ; 
and  Sally  thought  he  had  a  very  attractive  smile.  She 
found  him  looking  at  herself  with  a  pair  of  large  soft 
brown  eyes,  like  chocolate  which  has  been  in  a  warm 
place.  It  was  a  rather  dumb  look.  A  little  nick  came 
between  Sally's  brows.  She  was  busy  making  an  in- 
ventory of  the  young  man  visitor's  traits,  his  features, 
his  clothes.  He  dressed  well,  and  he  was  not  bad-looking. 
With  more  stamina  he  might  have  been  almost  handsome; 
but  he  was  obviously  not  in  good  health.  The  stoop, 
the  vagueness  of  all  his  movements,  his  soft  eye,  all  be- 
tokened as  much.  Sally  turned  to  Muriel  Barrett,  who 
worked  next  to  her. 

"Who's  he?"  she  asked,  indicating  the  stranger. 

"That's  Bertram  .  .  .  Madame's  son.  Mr.  Merrick, 
his  real  name  is.    But  we  call  him  Gaga." 

"Wodjer  call  him  that  for?"  asked  Sally.  "Isn't  he 
right  in  his  head?" 

"Oo,  well  one  of  the  gels — she's  gone  now,  Mary  Smith, 
— made  it  up.  She  said  he  was  Mr.  Gala,  you  know. 
Then  she  called  him  Bertie  Gaga,  for  fun;  and  it  got  to 
Gaga.  I  never  spoken  to  him,  so  I  don't  know.  Look 
out,  he's  looking  at  us.  Oo,  I  believe  he's  got  a  crush  on 
you,  Sally." 

Presently  the  young  man  followed  his  mother  out  of 
the  room,  and  there  was  a  little  buzz  when  they  were  gone. 
The  girls  leaned  together,  and  whispered,  laughing  among 
themselves.  Muriel  Barrett  turned  again  to  Sally,  and 
became  confidential.  She  herself  was  a  pink,  snub-nosed 
blonde,  with  untidy  hair,  who  was  always  sniffing  over 


GAGA  101 

her  work.  She  jerked  her  head  at  Rose  Anstey,  the  tall 
dark  girl  whom  Sally  had  noticed  when  first  she  came. 

"Rose  thought  he  was  in  love  with  her  once,"  Muriel 
said.  "Well,  he  was,  a  bit;  but  not  as  much  as  she 
thought.  I  mean,  he  used  to  look  at  her,  and  all  that,  but 
he  never  give  her  anything,  or  took  her  out.  I  think  .  .  . 
you  know  .  .  .  she's  a  bit  struck  on  him.  That's  more 
like  it.  She  thinks  he's  a  very  tall  handsome  man.  Well, 
he's  not  my  taste.  Funny,  if  you're  tall,  I  s'pose  you 
want  a  tall  man  to  fall  in  love  with  you.  It's  different, 
being  small,  I  suppose.  My  Elf's  only  about  inch  taller 
than  me.  You  can't  hardly  see  there's  any  difference  be- 
tween us.    If  I've  got  my  hair  frizzed  he  looks  .  .  ." 

Muriel  went  on  talking.  Sally  took  a  glance  at  Rose, 
who,  with  eyes  downcast,  was  sewing  rapidly.  Sally 
wished  she  had  known  that  about  Rose  and  Gaga  while  he 
was  in  the  room :  then  she  would  have  been  able  to  look 
at  Rose  and  make  up  her  mind  about  that  affair.  She 
did  not  suppose  really  that  there  was  anything  in  it, 
either  way.  Muriel  was  a  little  fool — like  a  little  pink 
pig.  That  was  just  what  she  was  hke.  And  she  chat- 
tered like  a  monkey.  She  had  said  that  because  he  looked 
at  her  twice  Gaga  had  got  a  crush  on  Sally.  Well,  Sally 
didn't  mind.  He  could  have  any  old  crush  he  liked,  for 
all  she  cared.  Gaga  was  dismissed  from  her  immediate 
attention,  although  she  sometimes  recollected  a  pair  of 
soft  brown  eyes,  that  made  her  want  to  say  "Moo"  as  if  in 
response  to  their  dumb  longing. 

The  outcome  of  this  visit,  which  occurred  towards  the 
end  of  May,  was  a  day's  outing  for  the  girls  at  the 
beginning  of  June.  They  all  went  into  the  country  by 
train,  on  a  day  which  at  first  promised  to  be  typical  of  all 
days  unfortunately  chosen  for  staff  outings,  but  which 
cheered  up  later  and  became  brilliantly  fine.  Only  the  girls 
were  there,  with  Miss  Summers  and  another  forewoman, 


102  COQUETTE 

Miss  Rapson,  to  see  that  nobody  fell  into  mischief.  They 
had  a  good  picnic  lunch  in  woods,  and  ran  or  walked  or 
sat  about  all  the  afternoon,  until  it  was  time  for  tea. 
They  then  trooped  into  an  hotel  in  which  a  room  had  been 
engaged,  and  scrimmaged  for  places  round  a  big  table. 
The  tea  was  an  enormous  meal :  Sally,  who  had  not 
hitherto  enjoyed  herself  any  more  than  most  of  the  other 
girls  had  noisily  done,  felt  herself  grown  to  twice  her 
normal  size.  It  was  the  biggest  meal  she  had  ever  eaten, 
and  there  were  cream  and  milk  and  sugar,  and  there  were 
cakes  and  lettuce  and  jam  and  all  sorts  of  other  en- 
couragements to  appetite.  And  every  time  anybody 
laughed  the  sound  went  up  to  the  varnished  rafters,  and 
billowed  so  much  that  the  two  elder  women  had  at  last  to 
break  in  upon  a  laughter  competition.  Sally  held  aloof 
from  the  laughter,  scornfully  regarding  the  laughers.  She 
had  been  rather  serious  all  day. 

And  when  the  noise  and  fun  were  at  their  height 
Madam  and  Gaga  and  another  man  and  woman  came 
into  the  room,  having  motored  to  the  hotel,  taken  their 
tea  in  another  room,  and  determined  to  join  the  party. 
The  tea  had  been  so  late,  and  so  prolonged,  that  it  was 
already  nearly  eight  o'clock,  and  as  the  sky  had  grown 
overcast  and  the  day  was  drawing  to  a  close  the  lights 
suddenly  popped  up  to  illumine  the  faces  of  both  feasters 
and  visitors.  A  piano  was  opened  at  the  far  end  of  the 
room,  and  the  woman  who  was  with  Madam  sat  down  at 
it  and  began  to  play.  But  only  one  or  two  of  the  girls 
danced:  the  others  had  eaten  too  much  to  be  able  to  do 
so.  Then  Rose  sang  a  song,  in  which  she  said  that  her 
heart  was  aching  and  breaking  at  somebody's  forsaking, 
and  the  girls  looked  at  one  another  significantly;  and 
there  were  more  songs,  and  the  girls  sat  back  in  their 
chairs  with  flushed  faces,  and  each  of  them  in  turn  seemed 
to  be  doing  something  to  entertain  the  party.     With  a 


GAGA  103 

bored  feeling,  Sally  was  sipping  her  last  cup  of  tea,  when 
she  became  aware  that  Gaga  had  taken  the  chair  next 
to  her,  and  with  his  chocolate  eyes  was  looking  plead- 
ingly into  her  face. 

"Don't  you  sing?"  he  asked.    "I  wish  you'd  sing." 

"I  got  no  music,"  said  Sally, 

"Mrs.  Roach  would  be  able  to  make  an  accompani- 
ment. She  understands  music  very  well — if  you  hummed 
her  a  song.    I  wish  you'd  sing." 

Sally  rose  to  her  feet.  The  other  girls  all  watched 
her  with  narrowed  eyes.  She  was  wearing  such  a  pretty 
dress  of  light  grey  cotton  poplin  that  she  looked  smarter 
than  ever,  they  thought — in  fact,  almost  pretty.  She  went 
close  to  the  piano,  and  spoke  to  the  pianist.  "Oo,  swank!" 
whispered  the  girls,  when  they  saw  that  Sally  was  to 
play  her  own  accompaniment.  It  was  a  thing  none  of 
them  could  have  done. 

*'  'When  you  and  I  go  down  the  love  path  together, 
Birds  shall  be  singing  and  the  day  so  long  .  .  .'" 

sang  Sally,  in  her  clear  voice,  and  made  everybody  arch 
their  brows  in  surprise. 

"  'Your  heart  mine,  and  mine  in  your  keeping. 
List  while  I  sing  to  you  love's  tender  song. 
Ah,  love,  have  done  with  your  repining, 
See  how  the  day  is  clear; 
Heart  of  my  heart, 
On  your  fond  heart  reclining 
Dear,  oh  my  Dear  .  .  .'" 

She  played  with  care,  and  struck  no  false  notes.  She  sang 
her  best.  Her  voice  was  the  best  voice  of  the  afternoon, 
a  mezzo-soprano,  but  with  clear  upper  register  and  a 


104  COQUETTE 

fulness  that  suggested  training.  It  was  not  a  great 
performance,  but  it  thrilled  the  others.  Sally  had  tri- 
umphed.   With  one  accord  the  girls  clapped. 

"My  best  worker,"  said  Miss  Summers,  rubbing  her 
cold  nose  and  turning  to  the  accompanist  of  the  after- 
noon. 

"A  clever  little  girl,"  agreed  her  neighbour. 

But  Gaga  was  stupefied.  He  had  remained  in  the  chair 
next  to  Sally's,  and  when  she  resumed  her  place  his  mouth 
was  still  open  with  delight  and  admiration.  Again  he 
leaned  forward,  and  she  met  his  melting  chocolate  eyes. 

"That  was  beautiful,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone  of  com- 
mendation.    "Beautiful !" 

"Glad  you  liked  it,"  she  said,  almost  brusquely.  In- 
stinctively she  shot  a  glance  in  Rose's  direction.  Rose, 
her  cheeks  mantling,  was  observing  the  two  with  interest. 
Sally's  brain  clicked  an  impression,  and  she  listened  to  a 
stammering  from  Gaga  which  aroused  her  contempt. 
"He's  hardly  a  man  at  all,"  she  thought.  "He's  soppy. 
Rose  can  have  him.  I  wish  her  joy  of  him.  She  can 
have  him — and  twenty  like  him,  if  she  wants  ...  I  don't 
know  so  much  about  that.  Why  should  she  ?  She's  stuck 
up.  Why  shouldn't  I  have  some  fun,  if  I  want  to  ?  It's 
nothing  to  do  with  Rose  Anstey  what  I  do,  and  what 
Gaga  does  .  .  ." 

Her  demand  was  unanswerable,  because  it  was  ad- 
dressed to  one  who  did  not  habitually  withdraw  herself 
lest  she  should  give  pain  to  others.  If  Rose  was  jealous, 
that  showed  the  sort  of  cat  she  was.  And  in  any  case, 
who  was  Rose?  Sally  was  bright  in  her  responses  to 
the  soft  voice,  so  that  Gaga  was  pleased;  but  the  girls 
could  all  see  that  her  manner  was  cool,  and  not  the 
flustered  eagerness  of  a  beggar.  Rose's  neighbour  whis- 
pered. When  the  evening  was  over  and  Gaga  and  his 
mother  had  gone,  and  the  girls  had  all  piled  into  two  rail- 


GAGA  106 

way  compartments,  somebody,  whose  voice  was  unrecog- 
nisable in  the  darkness,  called  from  the  other  carriage: 

"What  price  Gaga  on  the  love  path  ?    Whey !" 

There  was  great  laughter.  Even  Sally  joined  in  it. 
Going  home,  the  other  girls  in  her  carriage  all  insisted 
upon  hearing  the  song  again,  and  as  they  all  had  the 
quick  ear  of  Cockneys  they  could  sing  it  in  chorus  by  the 
time  the  train  reached  its  journey's  end.  Sally  had  be- 
come, for  a  time,  the  heroine  of  the  occasion.  Only  Rose, 
in  the  other  carriage,  had  made  her  protest  against  the 
song  and  its  singer. 

*'Love  path!"  she  said,  in  a  warm  voice  of  indig- 
nation. "She's  nothing  but  a  cocket — a  white-faced 
cocket.  That's  what  she  is.  She  nothing  but  a  white- 
faced  cocket,  that  Sally  Minto!" 

From  that  time  onward  that  was  Sally's  name  among 
the  girls— "Cocket,"  or  "White-faced  Cocket."  Rose  had 
coined  the  phrase  which  would  stick.  When  Sally  heard 
her  name  the  next  day,  through  Muriel's  indiscretion,  she 
looked  over  at  Rose  with  pinched  nostrils  and  a  little  dry 
smile.  She  was  flattered.  The  name  was  the  product  of 
Rose's  jealousy  and  injured  vanity;  but  it  was  life  to 
Sally,  for  it  was  a  testimony — the  first  she  had  ever  had — 
to  her  charm  and  her  dangerousness. 


IV 

She  did  not  tell  Toby  the  next  night  about  her  singing. 
She  rather  carefully  refrained  from  telling  him,  not  out 
of  considerateness,  but  from  a  sort  of  scorn  for  his 
jealousy.  To  herself  she  said  "Anything  for  a  quiet  life." 
Toby  never  dreamed  that  such  a  person  as  Gaga  existed, 
any  more  than  he  guessed  at  any  of  Sally's  encounters 
with  young  men  on  the  way  home.  Sally  had  discre- 
tion.   Had  he  been  a  lover,  she  might  have  told  him;  but 


106  COQUETTE 

as  he  was  more  to  her  than  that  she  saw  no  reason  to 
arouse  his  jealousy.  And  really,  if  a  man  spoke  to  her, 
and  looked  all  right,  where  was  the  harm  in  letting  him 
walk  a  little  way  with  her?  She  never  made  appoint- 
ments, and  after  a  time,  when  they  found  she  could  take 
care  of  herself,  and  did  not  want  a  non-committed  male 
friend,  these  fellow-pedestrians  soon  left  her  alone.  For 
Sally,  each  of  them  was  practice.  To  mention  them  to 
Toby  would  have  been  to  give  them  all  too  great  im- 
portance. And  he  might  have  made  a  fuss,  and  un- 
necessarily interrupted  her  fun.  "Where  ignorance  is 
bliss,"  thought  Sally,  "  'tis  folly  to  call  out  the  guard." 
And,  further,  "Let  sleeping  dogs  lie  until  the  milk  is 
stolen."  And  so  Toby  pursued  his  own  path,  and  never 
knew  a  tenth  of  what  went  on  in  Sally's  life  and  mind. 
Compared  with  Sally,  he  knew  nothing  at  all.  She  grew 
each  day  more  rusee,  more  cunning  in  knowledge  of  the 
world.  And  Toby  blundered  where  he  should  have  been 
most  astute.    It  was  his  fate. 

Sally  told  him  about  the  outing,  because  she  saw  he 
was  in  a  gloomy  mood  on  the  day — a  Sunday — after  the 
girls'  treat.  She  described  it  at  length  as  they  walked  in 
Waterlow  Park,  hanging  on  to  his  arm,  and  all  the  time 
searching  his  tell-tale  face  and  guessing  at  the  cause  of 
his  manifest  depression.  She  told  about  the  picnic  and 
the  woods,  and  the  tea,  and  the  journey  home;  and  she 
saw  his  mouth  slightly  open  as  he  grunted.  She  could 
see  the  tiny  points  of  hair  that  were  beginning  to  make 
a  perceptible  blueness  upon  his  chin,  and  the  moulding 
of  his  cheek,  and  a  little  patch  of  fine  down  upon  his 
cheek  bone,  and  the  hair  at  his  temples  which  she  had  so 
often  kissed.  And  she  knew  by  his  averted  eye  that  some- 
thing was  the  matter  with  him.  She  began  to  try  draw- 
ing him  on  the  subject — his  aunt,  had  he  heard  from  his 
mother  (who  had  married  again  when  Toby  was  a  baby, 


GAGA  107 

and  lived  with  her  husband  in  the  North),  what  had 
he  been  doing  at  the  Works?  Ah!  That  was  it.  Toby- 
had  started,  and  frowned.  It  was  something  at  the 
Works.    Oh,  he  was  easy  for  Sally  to  read! 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  suddenly  asked.  Toby 
flushed  and  scowled  down  at  her,  very  dark  and  ugly 
in  his  irritation,  his  mouth  twisted. 

"Matter?"  he  demanded.  "What  d'you  mean? 
Nothing's  the  matter." 

"That's  why  you're  so  cheerful,  I  suppose,"  retorted 
Sally.  "At  the  Works,  I  mean."  Toby  gave  her  a  quick, 
angry  look  in  which  there  was  an  admixture  of  fear  and 
suspicion. 

"There's  nothing  the  matter,"  he  said,  in  a  tyrannic 
voice. 

"Have  you  got  the  sack?"  Sally  was  merciless.  She 
replied  to  his  tyrannic  voice  with  one  as  hard  and  stab- 
bing as  a  gimlet.  "Ah,  I  thought  that  was  it.  What 
you  been  doing?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Toby.  "And  anyway,  what's  it  to 
do  with  you?" 

"Well,  I'm  out  walking  with  you.  See?  And  I  got 
to  do  all  the  talking.  See?  And  if  you're  going  to  be 
surly  I'll  go  home  by  myself.  That's  what  it's  got  to  do 
with  me.  And,  besides,  it  is  something  to  do  with  me, 
and  don't  you  forget  it.  You  got  no  right  to  keep  things 
from  me." 

Toby  was  cowed  by  her  handling  of  him.  He  might 
be  strong,  but  brains  are  always  more  potent  than  muscle 
in  such  circumstances.  And  men  are  always  afraid  of 
the  women  they  love. 

"Yes,  I  got  the  push,"  he  defiantly  said. 

"And  what's  thcit  for?"  demanded  Sally,  with  the 
severity  of  a  mother  to  her  baby.  There  was  no  answer. 
"What's  that  for?"   she  repeated.     "Come   on,   Toby, 


108  COQUETTE 

you'll  feel  better  if  you  tell  me  about  it,  Toby,  d'you 
love  me?  Well,  there's  nobody  about  .  .  .  quick!" 
They  kissed,  and  her  arms  had  been  round  his  neck,  and 
Toby  was  her  sheepish,  scowling,  smiling  slave.  Sally 
had  a  faint  consciousness  of  joy  in  her  power. 

"Well,  you  see  .  .  ."  he  began,  haltingly.  "Jackson 
and  I  ...  we  been  .  .  .  well,  we  wanted  to  make  a  bit, 
you  see.    And — tiddent  his  fault,  but  he  .  .  ." 

"Been  pinching  stuff,"  said  Sally.  "Clumsy.  Got 
found  out.     Well?" 

"Well,  they  found  out  about  me,  too." 

"What  had  you  been  doing?" 

"I  never  took  anything ;  but  I  found  a  lot  of  old  things 
among  the  rubbish,  and  I  showed  them  to  Jackson.  Well, 
they  asked  him  if  anybody  had  been  with  him;  and  he 
said  'no.' " 

"That  was  all  right,"  Sally  said.     "I  like  Jackson." 

"But  then  the  man  he'd  been  dealing  with  said  Jack- 
son had  talked  about  his  'mate.'  And  they  knew  that 
was  me.     And  I  .  .  .  told  'em  a  tale." 

"/  bet!"  cried  Sally,  scornfully.  "And  got  caught  in 
it,  too.    Badly!" 

"Well,  they  fired  us  both  yesterday,  and  said  we  was 
lucky  they  didn't  prosecute." 

"Did  they  pay  you?    What  you  going  to  do  now?" 

"I  dunno."  Toby  stared  stubbornly  before  him.  "Get 
something  else,  I  suppose.  Jackson's  going  for  a  sailor. 
Guess  I'll  do  that,  too." 

"Go  for  a  sailor?"  demanded  Sally,  with  a  heart  that 
went  dump  into  her  boots.  "What  d'you  want  to  do 
that  for?" 

"I'd  be  with  Jackson,  see,  if  I  went  for  a  sailor." 

"And  what  about  me?"  Sally's  voice  was  no  longer 
hard  or  dry.  "D'you  want  to  leave  me?  Are  you  tired 
of  me,  Toby?    I  believe  you  are.    Are  you?" 


GAGA  109 

"No,  I'm  not.  And  I  don't  want  to  leave  you.  But 
if  I  went  for  a  sailor  I'd  make  a  bit  of  money,  perhaps, 
and  then  after  a  little  while  I  could  come  back  and  begin 
again.  It  would  get  over  having  no  reference.  They'd 
say  'Where  you  been  working?'  and  I'd  say  'Been  at 
sea  for  the  last  year."  Then  they  wouldn't  know  any- 
thing but  what  I  told  'em.  I  wouldn't  go  long  voyages, 
Sally.  Only  just  short  ones.  I'd  often  come  home,  and 
we'd  have  a  spree." 

Sally's  quick  brain  was  at  work.  She  did  not  want 
him  to  go;  but  if  he  went,  and  if  she  saw  him  often, 
in  spite  of  his  being  away,  perhaps  it  would  not  be  so 
bad. 

"But  suppose  you  got  wrecked?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Rot.  D'you  suppose  every  ship  gets  wrecked? 
Don't  be  a  fool!" 

"No.  But  yours  might  get  wrecked.  How  am  I  to 
know,  supposing  there's  a  storm?  It  won't  not  get 
wrecked  because  you're  on  it.  Would  you  come  home 
very  often?  Would  you  wear  sailor  clothes?  Wonder 
how  you'd  look !  Oh,  I  know — you  mean  a  jersey.  Would 
it  have  letters  across  your  chest?  Where  d'you  have  to 
go?" 

Sally  was  so  interested  that  she  was  even  making  up 
Toby's  mind  for  him.  By  the  time  they  went  in  it  was 
decided  that  he  and  Jackson  were  going  to  sea,  and  that 
Sally  should  be  taken  down  to  visit  his  ship  if  it  happened 
to  be  at  the  Docks  or  at  Tilbury.  She  had  dancing  visions 
of  Toby  in  a  navy  blue  jersey,  with  "Queen  of  the  Earth" 
or  "La  Marguerite"  or  "Juanita"  across  it  in  white  let- 
ters. She  could  see  his  dark  hair  blown  by  the  wind,  and 
the  veins  in  his  wrists  standing  out  as  he  hauled  a  rope. 
It  was  rather  fun!  she  thought.  "My  boy's  a  sailor." 
She  would  be  able  to  touch  him  for  luck.     Sailors  were 


110  COQUETTE 

lucky.     She  sang  to  herself  a  song  one  of  the  workgirls 
knew: 

"Sailors  are  lads.    Sailors  are  lads. 
Sailors  they  make  you  laugh !" 

Before  night  she  was  wholly  reconciled  to  the  idea  that 
Toby  would  go  to  sea.  She  soon  had  a  dim  perception 
of  the  fact  that  it  would  do  him  good  to  go.  It  would  get 
him  away  from  the  atmosphere  of  the  Works,  where 
there  seemed  to  be  a  lot  of  stupid  larking  and  work-dodg- 
ing. Now  that  he  was  dismissed  she  began  to  realise  all 
this.  She  was  glad  he  was  away  from  it.  She  was  glad 
he  was  going  to  sea.  It  would  be  a  complete  change. 
It  would  do  him  good.  He  had  been  fiddling  about  too 
long  at  the  Works,  in  his  overalls  and  in  the  grime  and 
oil  and  general  dodginess  of  the  place.  The  ship  would 
take  him  about,  and  show  him  the  way  people  did  things. 
It  would  open  his  eyes  and  his  brains.  Electrically,  some- 
thing self -protective  within  her  added  the  further  mes- 
sage :  it  would  keep  him  out  of  the  way  for  a  time.  Sally 
breathed  deeply.  An  unreadable  smile  was  upon  her  lips, 
and  no  smile  at  all  was  in  her  eyes.  Afar  off  she  scented 
change;  but  what  manner  of  change  she  did  not  as  yet 
recognise.  It  was  her  instinct  at  work,  her  instinct  for 
turning  life  to  her  own  advantage.  It  was  an  infallible 
instinct,  Hke  that  of  birds  for  a  coming  storm. 


It  was  some  weeks  before  Sally  again  saw  Gaga,  and 
this  time  he  came  into  the  premises  of  Madame  Gala  one 
Saturday  morning.  Sally  had  taken  something  in  to 
Madam,  and  was  waiting  her  judgment,  when  one 
door  opened  and  Gaga  came  in.  He  was  dressed,  as 
usual,  in  a  morning  coat  and  top  hat,  and  his  trousers 


GAGA  111 

were  creased  to  an  inconceivable  point  of  accuracy.  Be- 
sides which,  his  tailors  had  been  able  to  do  what  most 
tailors  cannot  achieve;  the  creases  arrived  at  the  precise 
centre  of  Gaga's  fawn  spats.  Sally  was  not  such  an  ex- 
pert in  male  clothing  to  recognise  from  this  that 
Gaga's  tailors  were  supermen;  but  she  could  tell  that  he 
looked  like  a  gentleman  of  leisure.  She  was  the  more 
astonished,  therefore,  to  see  him  carrying  a  parcel  of 
some  size  under  his  arm.  His  mother  was  evidently 
quite  as  astonished, 

"What  on  earth's  that,  Bertie?"  she  demanded.  Gaga 
looked  at  her  in  a  timid  way. 

"Oh — er — it's  ,  .  .  it's  a  new  fertiliser,"  he  said. 
"I  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  take  it  on  to  the  office  after  lunch. 
Goodmayes  is  coming  back  then.  Perrip  says  it's  wonder- 
ful stuff,  and  I  want  Goodmayes  to  go  into  it.  We're 
going  into  all  that  matter — good  morning.  Miss  Minto — • 
this  afternoon.  I  ...  I  think  we  may  be  able  to  get 
through  quite  a  lot.  You  see,  as  it's  Saturday,  we  shan't 
be  interrupted.  .  .  ." 

"That  will  do,  Sally,"  said  Madam,  gravely  and  slow- 
ly nodding  her  head  in  dismissal. 

Sally  went  with  regret.  She  had  been  interested  in 
the  conversation.  She  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  Gaga 
did  nothing  for  a  living.  Now  he  talked  of  going  to  an 
office,  and  of  two  men  whose  opinions  he  evidently 
valued,  and  of  fertiliser;  and  although  his  words  and  his 
manner  were  still  those  of  a  hesitating  man  he  did  not 
speak  as  an  absolute  fool.  Sally  felt  a  stir  of  curiosity. 
What  sort  of  business  was  it  that  he  was  in?  Ferti- 
liser .  .  .  wonderful  stuff  .  .  .  something  to  do  with 
gardening,  would  it  be  ?  As  she  was  closing  the  door,  Sally 
looked  back  and  saw  mother  and  son  standing  together. 
The  likeness  was  remarkable.  Both  were  tall,  grey-faced, 
and  slightly  stooping.     Gaga  was  weak-looking   for  a 


112  COQUETTE 

man,  and  Madam  had  more  severity ;  but  there  were  such 
lines  upon  her  face  that  she  looked  like  an  old  woman. 
A  sudden  realisation  shook  Sally.  As  she  went  back  to 
Miss  Summers  with  an  explanation  of  Madam's  deferred 
judgment  she  had  this  sharp  new  knowledge  about 
Madame  Gala, 

"Well  sh^  won't  live  for  ever,"  thought  Sally,  defi- 
nitely. 

And  then  she  had  recourse  to  her  usual  informant, 
Muriel,  and  asked  her  Gaga's  business.  Aluriel  did  not 
know.  Sally  was  therefore  left  to  conjecture.  She  for- 
got all  about  Madam  and  Gaga,  for  Toby  was  going  to 
meet  her  after  business  on  his  first  leave  from  the  "Flor- 
ence Drake."  She  was  dressed  in  her  most  destructive 
raiment,  had  searched  the  skies  for  rain,  and  was  watch- 
ing the  clock.  So  fertilisers  went  the  way  of  all  secon- 
dary things,  and  Toby  became  her  dominating  thought. 
He  had  become  the  more  splendid  by  his  absence.  She 
imagined  him  standing  in  the  street  below,  dressed  equal- 
ly in  his  best  clothes,  and  looking  the  finest  boy  on  earth. 
They  were  going  into  Hyde  Park  and  Kensington  Gar- 
dens, and  he  had  promised  to  take  her  in  a  boat  on  the 
Serpentine,  if  one  could  be  hired,  and  somewhere  to  tea, 
and  at  night  to  the  Marlborough  Theatre  in  Holloway 
Road.  It  was  worth  while  to  lose  him  for  a  time  in  order 
to  recover  a  Toby  more  dear,  and  so  much  more  extrava- 
gant on  her  behalf.  He  explained  his  generosity  by  the 
fact  that  he  would  be  drawing  his  wages  that  day.  Good 
to  be  a  sailor,  and  have  your  money  in  a  lump  like  that  \ 
Sally  thought  she  would  not  altogether  mind  if  he  re- 
mained at  sea  for  a  time.  He  could  save,  and  she  could 
get  on ;  and  then  they  would  both  be  happy,  with  a  house 
somewhere,  and  a  maid,  and  everything  spick  and  span. 
No  babies.  Sally  had  taken  that  to  heart,  and  she  appre- 
ciated the  value  of  old  Perce's  advice.    A  girl  who  want- 


GAGA  118 

ed  to  get  on  did  not  need  babies  to  drag  her  down.  She 
wanted  freedom. 

As  the  clock  slowly  crawled  to  the  hour  of  liberation 
all  the  girls  began  to  put  away  their  things,  so  that  a  real 
busyness  was  observable  in  the  room.  Sally  was  appar- 
ently no  more  eager  than  the  others,  and  yet  she  could 
hardly  keep  herself  from  running  to  the  window  to  see 
if  Toby  was  in  the  street  below.  Sedately  she  prepared 
to  leave,  walking  down  the  stairs  slowly  instead  of  rush- 
ing at  them  as  she  wished  to  do.  She  buttoned  her  little 
gloves,  and  set  her  hat  straight,  and  made  herself  appear 
nonchalant.  And  that  was  how  it  happened  that  Gaga 
overtook  her  at  the  front  door,  and  stood  with  her  for  a 
moment  upon  the  doorstep. 

'TLovely  day  it  is,"  Gaga  said,  agreeably.  "You  going 
to  get  away?" 

"Away  ?  Oh,  no,  I'm  going  home,"  Sally  said  brightly. 
Then,  looking  at  him,  she  saw  that  there  was  nothing  to 
disturb  the  impression  that  he  was  a  gentleman  of  leisure. 
"Oh  Mr.  Ga —  Mr.  Bertram  .  .  .  you  haven't  got  your 
parcel!"  she  cried. 

He  slapped  one  hand  upon  the  other,  with  a  most  dra- 
matic gesture. 

"Idiot!"  he  exclaimed.  "Thank  you  so  much.  Miss 
Minto.  You've  saved  my  afternoon."  And  with  that, 
raising  his  top  hat,  he  went  back  up  the  stairs,  leaving 
Sally  to  congratulate  herself  upon  her  memory  and  her 
presence  of  mind.  For  she  knew  the  rooms  would  all 
be  locked  by  Miss  Summers  before  she  left. 

She  looked  round  for  Toby,  and  saw  him,  as  fine  as  a 
bird,  upon  the  opposite  path.  Crossing  over,  she  took 
his  arm  with  such  pride  and  delight  that  Toby,  who  had 
been  frowning  as  he  greeted  her,  was  almost  appeased. 
She  looked  so  charming  in  her  very  pale  green  dress  with 
the  artfully-brimmed  hat  that  he  also  had  looked  proud 


114.  COQUETTE 

and  happy  at  her  first  appearance.  But  Toby  had  received 
a  shock.  Standing  there  in  his  dark  tweed  suit,  with  a 
rakish  Trilby  hat  and  a  fascinating  cane,  he  had  felt  a 
fit  companion  for  any  girl,  and  as  he  was  shaven,  and 
his  square  face  was  browned  with  the  sun  and  the  sea 
wind,  he  had  been  content.  And  then  Sally,  looking  like 
a  princess  .  .  . 

"Who  the  devil's  that  silly  fop?"  he  demanded,  jerking 
his  head. 

Sally  gave  a  jump,  and  a  mischievous  peep  up  into 
Toby's  brown  face. 

"Jealous?"  she  asked,  "That's  right:  be  a  man. 
They're  never  happy  unless  they're  jealous.  That's  Gaga. 
And  if  you  want  to  know  who  Gaga  is,  he's  Madam's 
son.     See?" 

"Well,  he'd  better  not  come  fooling  around  you," 
growled  Toby.  "Or  he'll  get  a  thick  ear.  With  his  top 
hat  and  his  kid  gloves  and  all." 

"Hark  at  it!"  jeered  Sally.  "Quite  the  little  man! 
Don't  you  think  he  awfully  good-looking,  Toby?  We're 
all  mad  about  him.    All  us  girls." 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Toby,  dehberately.  "But  I  expect 
he's  the  sort  the  girls  like.  Well,  he's  got  a  harem  there, 
and  no  mistake,  all  fussing  round  him.  Is  he  there  all 
the  time?" 

"No.  Toby,  what's  fertilisers  ?"  Sally's  curiosity  had 
been  revived.  "Don't  you  know?  Oh,  shut  up  about 
Gaga.  Anybody'd  think  he  was  a  devil.  He  isn't.  He's 
soppy.  He  wouldn't  dare  to  make  love  to  any  of  us 
girls,     n  I  was  to  look  at  him  he'd  run  away." 

"Yes,"  said  Toby,  grimly.  "I  see  he  didn't  like  you 
looking  at  him." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  something  else,  Toby,"  added  Sally, 
with  a  persuasively  dry  candour.  "If  Madam  was  to  see 
me  looking  at  him  I  should  get  the  sack — spiff!    See?" 


GAGA  116 

Toby  was  impressed.  More,  he  was  silenced.  They 
spent  a  happy  afternoon  and  evening,  with  no  further 
reference  to  Gaga,  Nor  did  Sally  think  of  Gaga  during 
the  whole  of  the  weekend.  He  might  have  been  mixed 
and  pounded  with  his  own  fertiliser  for  all  she  cared. 
For  Sally  had  Toby. 

VI 

One  night  Miss  Summers  and  Sally  were  working  late 
upon  a  "rush  job,"  and  Madam  was  also  in  her  room. 
The  girls  had  all  gone ;  but  Sally  had  been  chosen  by  Miss 
Summers  to  help  her,  and  Sally  was  always  ready  to  do 
this  because  it  meant  a  small  addition  to  her  weekly 
money.  Madam  was  doing  her  books,  and  Gaga  was 
helping  her.  Sally  was  sewing  busily — beautiful  fine 
work  that  caused  Miss  Summers  to  purr  and  lick  her  lips 
with  relish; — and  as  they  worked  they  exchanged  re- 
marks which  would  have  been  impossible  if  they  had  not 
been  alone.  Miss  Summers  always  spoke  of  the  business, 
which  absorbed  her,  and  Sally  gleaned  innumerable  de- 
tails in  this  way,  without  seeming  to  be  doing  such  a 
thing.  She,  on  her  side,  gave  Miss  Summers  a  low-toned 
picture  of  her  own  life,  concentrating  upon  domestic  cir- 
cumstances and  enhancing  Miss  Summers'  respect  for  her 
bravery  and  her  willingness.  When  they  had  been  silent 
once  for  a  little  while,  and  Sally  had  finished  the  first 
of  her  difficult  and  gratifying  tasks,  Sally  fell  into 
thought,  and  at  last  said  to  Miss  Summers : 

"Wish  I  knew  about  accounts.  I  don't  know  anything. 
Is  it  hard  to  learn  ?" 

Miss  Summers  shook  her  plump  face,  and  rubbed  the 
tip  of  her  nose  with  the  back  of  her  hand. 

"No,"  she  reassuringly  said.  "It's  easy.  You  know 
what  twice  one  are  ?    Well,  that's  all  it  is.    You  put  down 


116  COQUETTE 

on  one  side  how  much  you  charged,  and  when  you  get 
the  money  you  put  it  down  on  the  other  side,  and  draw 
a  hne  to  show  they  balance.  And  every  month  or  every 
quarter  you  go  through  your  books,  and  see  who  hasn't 
paid;  and  if  it  isn't  anybody  special  you  send  them  a  fresh 
account.  And  if  it's  a  real  lady  you  don't  worry  her. 
You  have  to  know  who's  who  in  a  business  like  this. 
That's  the  chief  thing." 

"Does  Gaga — Mr.  Bertram  know  who's  who  ?" 

"No !"  Miss  Summers's  tone  was  conclusive.  "But  his 
mother  tells  him  who  to  write  to,  or  who  to  send  an  ac- 
count to,  and  he  knows  bookkeeping,  and  how  much  is 
at  the  bank;  and  he  draws  cheques  for  her  to  sign,  and 
that  sort  of  thing.  Between  you  and  me,  Sally — mind, 
this  is  quite  between  ourselves, — I  don't  think  Mr.  Bert- 
ram's got  a  very  good  head  for  figures.  You  have  to  be 
a  bit  smarter  than  he  is.  Of  course,  he's  very  kind  and 
good-looking;  but  if  I  wanted  good  sound  common  sense 
I  wouldn't  go  to  him.  Not  a  good  head  for  figures.  He's 
not  very  sharp.  Now  Madam's  as  sharp  as  a  needle.  It's 
funny  how  a  really  sharp  woman  sometimes  has  a  son 
who's — well,  not  so  sharp.  .  .  ." 

"Would  you  say  /  was  sharp?"  asked  Sally  innocently. 

"Like  a  knife,"  declared  Miss  Summers,  with  a  quick 
dart  of  her  feline  eyes. 

"Really?"  Sally  was  eager.  She  gave  a  little  chuckle 
of  pleasure  at  such  emphatic  praise. 

"You'd  be  able  to  do  the  books,  but  you're  better  where 
you  are.  When  you've  been  here  another  three  months, 
Sally,  you'll  be  getting  more  money.  It  isn't  only  that 
you're  a  good  worker,  and  quick,  but  you've  got  more 
sense  than  the  other  girls.  I  oughtn't  to  say  this  to  you. 
I  don't  generally  praise  the  girls  here.  But  if  you  want 
to  get  on,  you've  only  got  to  stay  where  you  are.  You'll 
find  Madam  appreciates  you.    And  so  do  I.'* 


GAGA  117 

''YouVe  been  awfully  good  to  me,"  murmured  Sally, 
with  downcast  eyes.  *'I'm  not  just  saying  that,  Miss 
Summers;  I  mean  it,  every  word.  When  I  came  here 
I  didn't  know  anything;  and  now  I  don't  know  a  lot; 
but  .  .  ."  She  gave  a  small  cluck  of  her  tongue,  and 
a  smile,  to  show  how  much  she  had  learned.  It  was  true. 
And  she  was  even  learning  to  speak  better,  through  lis- 
tening to  Madam  and  Miss  Summers  and  at  times  a  cus- 
tomer; and  she  had  enough  sense  to  avoid  the  extrava- 
gant refinements  of  Nosey.  Presently  she  resumed: 
"Miss  Summers,  what  does  Mr.  Bertram  do?  He's  got 
a  business  of  his  own,  hasn't  he?" 

Miss  Summers  looked  across  at  the  door  leading  to 
Madam's  room,  and  lowered  her  voice. 

"It's  only  something  Madam  put  him  into.  It's  a 
business  all  to  do  with  farms." 

"Farms?"  Sally  laughed.  "Well,  he  doesn't  look 
much  like  a  farmer." 

"No,  it  isn't  exactly  farms;  but  chemical  things  they 
use  on  farms.  Now  you  see  there's  the  soil."  Sally  nod- 
ded, so  deeply  interested  that  she  ceased  her  work.  "Some 
soil's  good  for  growing  things,  and  some  isn't.  Well, 
when  a  soil's  not  good  the  farmers  mix  stuff  with  it,  to 
make  it  better." 

"I  know,"  cried  Sally,  joyously.     "Fertiliser." 

"Yes.  And  then  from  the  good  soil  they'll  get  a  crop 
early  in  the  year,  and  then,  by  using  stuff,  they'll  get 
another  crop  later.  All  that  sort  of  thing.  And  if  cows 
have  the  mange,  or  the  rickets,  or  whatever  it  is  cows 
have,  Mr.  Bertram's  got  something  to  give  them.  D'you 
see  what  I  mean  ?  And  all  sorts  of  chemical  things.  Stuff 
to  kill  weeds,  stuff  to  give  chickens  to  make  them  have 
bigger  eggs.  .  .  .  He's  got  an  inventor,  and  a  manager, 
and  others  who  are  interested  in  the  business,  and  he's 
got  a  share,  and  he  goes  to  the  office  and  goes  about  the 


118  COQUETTE 

country  sometimes."  Miss  Summers  screwed  up  her 
nose  and  lips,  looking  very  like  an  old  pussy,  and 
in  a  whisper  added :  "Doesn't  really  do  very  much."  She 
put  her  finger  to  her  lips  at  that,  and  Sally,  resuming  her 
work,  reassured  her  by  a  glance.  "Of  course,"  said  Miss 
Summers,  "he's  very  agreeable,  and  good-looking,  and 
he's  got  plenty  of  money." 

Money!  Sally's  eyelids  flickered.  She  gave  a  charm- 
ing grin. 

"Wish  I'd  got  plenty  money,"  she  said. 

"You  will  have,"  answered  Miss  Summers,  confident- 
ly. "Don't  fret.  Your  time's  coming.  You're  young 
yet,  and  all  sorts  of  things  might  happen  to  you." 

Sally  made  no  response.  She  fell  into  silence  for  a 
time.  She  had  learnt  with  the  greatest  interest  about 
Gaga's  business,  and  about  the  books.  She  learned  a 
great  deal  from  Miss  Summers,  whom  she  had  grown  to 
like  very  much.  She  was  by  no  means  insensitive  to 
kindness,  although  she  was  not  sentimental  over  it.  And, 
as  she  thought,  she  came  round  again  to  the  two  workers 
in  the  next  room. 

"D'you  think  Madam  will  live  long?"  she  unexpected- 
ly asked. 

vii 

Within  half  an  hour  the  job  was  finished,  and  Miss 
Summers  took  it  in  to  Madam.  She  closed  the  door  after 
her,  and  so  Sally  could  not  hear  what  was  said.  She 
stood  up,  stretching  her  arms,  and  looking  down  into  the 
street,  for  it  was  barely  growing  dusk,  and  she  could  see 
a  few  men  and  women  walking  along  in  either  direction. 
She  yawned  slightly,  raising  her  hand  to  her  mouth,  her 
muscles  stiff.  And  as  she  stood  thus  she  heard  the  door 
opened  and  closed  again,  and,  still  yawning,  said  sleepily : 

"Oo,  I'm  JO  tired!" 


GAGA  119 

"Are  you?"  she  heard  behind  her,  in  a  very  soft  and 
sympathetic  voice,    Sally  wheeled. 

**I  thought  it  was  Miss  Summers,"  she  cried. 

Gaga  stood  there  smiling  shyly,  and  looking  at  her 
with  his  appealing  eyes.  In  this  light  he  looked  very 
handsome,  and  Sally  felt  almost  sorry  to  see  that  he  also 
looked  tired.  His  face  was  quite  grey,  and  his  move- 
ments were  those  of  an  exceedingly  nervous  person  who 
would  always  shrink  from  roughness. 

"I'm  so  sorry  you  should  have  had  to  work  so  late,"  he 
said. 

"Oo,  it's  nothing,"  cried  Sally.  *'Do  me  good.  If  I 
was  at  home  I  should  only  be  working  there,"  she  added, 
explanatorily.     "Work,  work,  work." 

"Don't  you  ever  get  any  fun?"  asked  Gaga,  timidly. 
"I  mean,  go  out,  or  anything?" 

Sally  shook  her  head.  She  was  silhouetted  against 
the  light. 

"No,"  she  told  him.  "Not  often."  It  was  strange 
how  refined  her  voice  automatically  became  when  she 
was  talking  to  Gaga.  She  was  altogether  restrained. 
"You  can't  if  you've  got  to  earn  your  own  living.  And 
have  to  get  here  early  in  the  morning." 

Gaga  hesitated,  half  turned  away,  came  back. 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  he  said,  in  his  gentle,  weak  way. 
"Don't  you  like  it?  I  mean  going  out.  Or  is  it  just 
that  you  don't  get  the  chance  ?  Poor  little  girl.  Er — I'm 
sorry.     Er — it's  a  beautiful  night,  isn't  it?" 

"Lovely,"  agreed  Sally.    "I'm  going  to  walk  home." 

He  considered  that.  He  did  not  seem  to  have  anything 
more  to  say.  Sally  moved  to  her  place,  and  mechanically 
put  away  her  scissors  and  thimble.  She  was  still  in  her 
pinafore,  and  she  could  not  take  that  off  and  roll  it  up 
while  Gage  was  in  the  room.  So  they  stood  there,  sepa- 
rated by  several  yards.     He  took  out  a  cigarette  case. 


120  COQUETTE 

and  lighted  a  cigarette,  throwing  the  match  under  the 
long  table  at  the  side  of  the  room. 

"Yes,"  he  said  reflectively.  "Are  you  going  to  have 
dinner  first?" 

"Me?"  laughed  Sally.  She  shook  her  head.  "When 
I  get  home.  If  I  had  dinner  in  London  it  would  take  all 
my  wages,  and  more,  at  a  single  go."  She  laughed  again, 
but  not  woundingly. 

Gaga  looked  at  his  shoes,  again  at  Sally,  again  at  his 
shoes. 

"Look  here,"  he  blurted  out,  "I  wish  you'd  .  .  ." 

Sally's  ears  were  pricked ;  but  they  heard  only  the  open- 
ing of  the  door  of  Madam's  room  as  Miss  Summers  re- 
turned. Both  Sally  and  Gaga  turned  away,  as  if  in 
slight  chagrin.  Then  Gaga  backed  out  of  the  workroom. 
The  conversation  was  over.  It  was  time  to  go  home. 
Slowly  Sally  removed  her  pinafore  and  rolled  it,  thinking 
rapidly.  Miss  Summers  was  so  pleased  at  Madam's  satis- 
faction with  the  dress  that  she  was  beaming  and  purring 
and  rubbing  her  hands  together.  She  nodded  benevo- 
lently at  Sally. 

"Well,  you  get  off,  Sally,"  she  said,  in  a  full  tone  of 
delight.  "It's  quite  all  right.  Madam's  very  pleased 
with  the  dress.  Don't  hang  about  now,  but  get  home  to 
your  supper.    You've  been  a  very  good  girl." 

Sally  put  on  her  hat. 

"Good  night.  Miss  Summers."  And  as  she  passed 
the  door  of  Madam's  room  she  gave  a  little  silent  nod 
towards  it,  and  a  little  grimace  also.  She  was  out  upon 
the  stairs.  She  was  out  of  doors.  And  as  she  walked 
along  she  heard  rapid  footsteps  behind  her,  shrank  a 
little,  and  looked  up  to  see  Gaga  standing  beside  her, 
quite  breathless,  as  if  with  a  hurried  journey. 

"Er — Miss  Minto,"  he  panted.  "I'm  sorry  ...  I 
.  .  .  will  you  take  these?    Er — good  night." 


GAGA  121 

He  raised  his  hat,  and  went  into  the  building,  leaving 
Sally  mutely  clasping  a  box  of  chocolates  which  he  had 
thrust  into  her  hand.  She  looked  round,  but  he  had  dis- 
appeared, and  she  began  to  march  homeward,  still  clasp- 
ing the  chocolates.  Only  when  she  was  in  Regent  Street 
with  her  treasure  did  Sally  dare  to  laugh.  Then  the  whole 
scene  came  back  to  her  so  vividly  that  she  could  control 
her  mirth  no  longer,  but  stared,  shaking,  into  a  shop  win- 
dow. He  must  have  hurried  out  to  buy  the  chocolates 
after  being  interrupted  by  Miss  Summers. 

"My!"  she  whispered  to  herself.  "My!"  For  a  time 
that  was  all  she  could  say;  but  as  she  resumed  her  journey 
she  exclaimed :  "Chocolates !  He  never  gave  Rose  any- 
thing at  all.  Ee!  He  was  going  to  ask  me  to  dinner. 
Wish  he  had!  He  didn't  dare!  My  word,  he  hasn't 
half  got  a  crush  on  me !  Old  Gaga !"  She  was  consumed 
with  delighted  laughter,  that  made  her  break  into  smiles 
at  intervals  during  the  whole  of  the  dismal  walk  which 
followed. 

viii 

"Here,  have  a  chocolate,  ma,"  said  Sally.  Mrs,  Minto 
was  sitting  beside  the  empty  grate  reading,  with  the  aid 
of  a  magnifying  glass,  a  piece  of  newspaper  which  had 
been  wrapped  around  Sally's  mended  shoes.  She  looked 
very  frail  and  meagre,  but  she  was  very  much  better  than 
she  had  been,  and  but  for  the  ugliness  of  the  room  and 
the  drabness  of  her  clothes  she  would  not  have  appeared 
miserable.  She  was,  in  fact,  a  pathetic  figure ;  but  thanks 
to  Sally  they  were  no  longer  starving,  or  in  immediate 
danger  of  it. 

"Chocolates!"  cried  Mrs.  Minto.  Then,  sternly  and 
suspiciously,  she  said  in  her  weak  voice  of  warning, 
"Where  did  you  get  them  from,  Sally?" 

"Won  'em  in  a  raffle,"  declared  Sally. 


122  COQUETTE 

"Oo,   gambling!"   reproved   Mrs.   Minto.     "It's  very 
wrong  of  young  girls " 


"Fiddlesticks !  They're  good  chocolates,  too,"  said 
Sally.  "Don't  make  yourself  sick.  It's  a  nuisance.  Be- 
sides, I  want  some  myself.  I  am  hungry.  I've  been 
working  all  the  evening." 

"Working!"  grumbled  her  mother,  incredulously. 

"Well  .  .  .  I  .  .  .  haver  asserted  Sally.  "Perhaps 
you'd  like  me  to  get  Miss  Summers  to  give  me  a  certifi- 
cate? You'll  see.  I  shall  have  a  bit  more  money  at  the 
end  of  the  week.  Then  you'll  rub  your  eyes.  You'll  apol- 
ogise— I  don't  think !  No,  I'm  a  bad  girl,  wasting  my  time 
gadding  about.  You  never  think  of  that  when  you  get 
the  money,  or  the  money  if  I'm  late." 

"Hush!  Hush!"  begged  her  mother.  "I  never  said 
you  was  a  bad  girl.  You're  a  very  good  girl.  But  when 
you  bring  home  a  box  of  chocolates  at  this  hour — nine 
o'clock,  and  past — and  say  you  won  them  in  a  raffle,  and 
you've  been  working — well !" 

"What's  that  you're  reading?"  asked  Sally,  pointing 
to  the  small  print. 

Mrs.  Minto  straightened  the  sheet  of  newspaper,  and 
held  it  up  to  the  light. 

"It's  an  old  paper,"  she  said.     "A  trial." 

"Lor!  Murder?"  Sally  almost  left  her  supper. 
"What's  it  all  about?" 

"Well  .  ,  .  oo,  he  must  a  been  a  wicked  wretch.  He 
poisoned  the  old  lady.  He'd  robbed  her  before  he  did 
it.  Took  all  her  money  to  give  her  an  annuity,  and  then 
he  poisoned  her." 

"Poison!     Whew!     What  sort  of  poison?" 

"Flypapers,  it  was.  Not  them  sticky  ones,  but  the 
brown,  what  you  put  in  water.  Got  arsenic  in  them,  they 
have." 

"What's  arsenic?" 


GAGA  123 

Mrs.  Minto  looked  over  her  magnifying  glass  at  Sally 
in  a  bewildered  way. 

"I  don't  know.  It's  poison.  I  never  poisoned  any- 
body.   Not  that  I  know  of." 

"No,"  agreed  Sally.  She  thought  to  herself:  "She 
ought  to  have  poisoned  dad.  All  of  us."  Melancholy 
seized  her,  a  dreadful  passing  fit  of  depression.  Sudden- 
ly she  longed  for  Toby.  Aloud,  she  proceeded,  more  se- 
riously: "If  it's  in  the  flypapers,  why  don't  we  all  get 
poisoned,  ma?" 

"Well,  it  seems  he  soaked  the  papers,  and  drained  off 
the  water,  with  the  poison  in  it,  and  mixed  it  with  her 
food — beef  tea,  and  that.  She  never  noticed  anything. 
She  had  awful  pains,  and  diarrhoea,  and  was  sick;  and 
then  she  died,  poor  thing." 

"Hn,"  said  Sally,  reaching  out  for  the  chocolates.  "I'll 
read  it.    I  like  murders." 

"Hush !"  cried  Mrs.  Minto,  in  horror.  "Read  them — 
yes;  but  say  you  like  murders!  What  wicked  people 
there  are  in  the  world,  to  be  sure.  I  hope  they  hanged 
him." 

"Doesn't  it  say?"  mumbled  Sally,  dealing  with  a  choco- 
late with  caramel  inside  it. 

"It's  torn  across.  It's  what  I  got  your  shoes  in,  Sally. 
It's  a  .  .  .  It's  'Stories  of  Famous  Trials,'  in  the  Weekly 
Something  ...  I  can't  see  what  it  is." 

For  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  Sally  ate  chocolates 
and  read  about  the  trial  of  Seddon  for  murdering  Miss 
Barrow. 

"Miss  Barrow!"  she  exclaimed.  "Wonder  if  she  was 
any  relation  to  old  Perce !  I'll  ask  Mrs.  Perce  about  it. 
Oo — fancy  Tollington  Park !  Quite  near  us  in  Homsey 
Road." 

Mrs.   Minto  shuddered,  and  looked  furtively  at  the 


124.  COQUETTE 

clock,  longing  for  her  bedtime.  Sally  caught  the  glance, 
shut  up  the  box  of  chocolates,  and  folded  the  paper. 

"You  going  to  work?"  asked  her  mother. 

"Wash  my  hair." 

"You're  always  washing  .  .  .  washing,  you  call  it!" 
cried  Mrs.  Minto. 

Sally  ignored  the  sneer,  and  proceeded  to  her  occupa- 
tion. There  was  a  silence.  Mrs.  Minto  yawned.  She 
looked  at  Sally  making  her  preparations,  and  into  her 
face  came  a  watchful  anxiety  that  was  mingled  with  pro- 
found esteem.  There  was  a  chic  about  her  girl  that  made 
Mrs.  Minto  assume  this  expression  quite  often,  and  Sally 
knew  it.  She  knew  it  now,  and  was  elaborately  uncon- 
scious of  it.  As  she  waited  for  the  kettle  and  moved 
the  lamp  so  that  it  would  illumine  the  washstand,  she 
whistled  to  show  how  blind  she  was  to  any  sign  of  emo- 
tion from  her  mother.  When  the  whistle  was  unavailing, 
she  said  sharply : 

"Don't  you  think  this  is  a  pretty  frock,  ma?" 

Mrs.  Minto  sighed  heavily,  and  pulled  herself  up  out 
of  her  chair. 

"Far  too  pretty,  if  you  ask  me,"  she  said.  "Looks  to 
me  fast."  She  was  full  of  concern,  and  did  not  try  to 
hide  it  from  Sally. 

"Oo!"  cried  Sally.  "You  are  stupid,  ma!"  And  with 
that  she  whipped  the  dress  over  her  head  and  revealed 
the  fact  that  she  wore  no  petticoat.  Her  mother  was  the 
more  outraged. 

Sally  began  to  sing. 

"  'When  you  and  I  go  down  the  love  path  together, 
Stars  shall  be  shining  and  the  night  so  fair.'  " 

"Well,  it's  a  good  thing  nobody  else  sees  you  like  that,'* 
sniffed  her  mother,  rebukingly.  "I  don't  know  what  they 
would  think!" 


GAGA  126 

Sally  forebore  to  make  the  obvious  retort.  Her  mother 
prepared  for  bed. 

ix 

For  the  next  fortnight  Sally  did  not  see  Gaga,  and 
only  at  the  end  of  the  period  did  she  learn  that  he  had 
been  away  from  London  on  business.  This  was  one  of 
the  journeys  of  which  Miss  Summers  had  spoken,  to  the 
agricultural  districts.  Sally  could  not  discover  whether 
Gaga  actually  acted  as  traveller  for  his  own  firm;  but 
she  gathered  that  he  found  it  useful  to  see  how  the  coun- 
try was  behaving  itself  in  the  matter  of  agriculture.  She 
suspected  also  that  he  went  away  for  his  health.  She 
speculated  as  to  what  he  looked  like  with  his  handsome, 
coat  off,  and  recalled  wrists  that  could  have  been  spanned 
with  ease  by  her  own  small  fingers.  In  contrast,  when 
she  saw  Toby,  she  saw  with  swelling  pride  how  big  his 
hands  were,  and  felt  his  already  increased  muscles.  Once 
he  swung  her  clear  from  the  ground  with  one  arm,  so 
that  her  feet  kicked  against  his  leg  in  helplessness.  He 
was  getting  stronger  and  stouter  than  ever,  and  his  eyes 
were  clear  and  his  skin  tanned  and  smoothed  by  the 
breeze.  She  adored  him.  He  wanted  her  to  go  away 
with  him  during  one  of  his  leaves ;  but  Sally  did  not  dare 
to  go,  because  her  mother  had  been  specially  grumbling 
and  suspicious.  So  they  saw  each  other  rarely  for  the 
rest  of  the  year,  and  their  meetings  became  the  more 
precious  for  that  reason. 

Soon  after  Gaga  returned,  Madam  went  away.  She 
had  had  no  holiday,  and  she  had  fallen  ill,  with  headaches 
and  bilious  attacks  and  a  threat  of  jaundice.  So  it  hap- 
pened that  Gaga  came  each  day  to  the  dressmaking  estab- 
lishment and  took  charge  of  the  cash  and  the  accounts, 
while  Miss  Summers  and  Miss  Rapson  interviewed  any 
customers  who  came  about  dresses.    Miss  Rapson,  a  tall. 


126  COQUETTE 

thin,  dark  woman,  was  in  another  room,  with  eight  girls 
under  her ;  but  Miss  Summers  was  really  in  charge  while 
Madam  was  away,  because  she  understood  the  whole 
business,  and  was  a  more  experienced  woman  than  Miss 
Rapson.  Sally  had  hardly  ever  seen  Miss  Rapson  until 
this  time,  so  much  did  she  keep  to  her  own  room;  but 
now,  when  the  two  who  were  in  charge  had  to  arrange 
their  work  together,  there  was  more  interchange.  Sally 
had  often  to  go  into  the  other  room  with  messages  or 
work,  and  she  came  to  understand  very  quickly  what 
went  on  there.  Miss  Rapson  was  strict,  and  rather  dis- 
agreeable. Her  girls  were  like  mice,  unless  she  was  ab- 
sent; and  her  sallow  face  gave  the  clue  to  her  disagree- 
ableness.  She  did  not  like  Sally  at  all,  because  she  was 
jealous  of  her.  Sally  was  quick  to  perceive  this,  but  she 
did  not  retaliate.  She  formed  her  own  cool  conclusions 
about  Miss  Rapson.  She  understood  the  complexion,  and 
she  was  more  concerned  with  the  details  of  the  work  than 
with  anything  else.  Besides,  she  was  in  a  strong  position. 
She  had  nothing  to  fear  from  Miss  Rapson.  She  soon 
recognised  that  she  had  not  much  to  learn  from  her, 
either.  Miss  Rapson  was  forty,  angular,  shortsighted. 
She  was  inclined  to  be  fussy  and  self-important  and  lack- 
ing in  self-reliance.  If  anything  went  wrong  she  lost 
first  her  head  and  then  her  temper.  "Hysterics!"  thought 
Sally,  cruelly.  And  Miss  Rapson  was  very  anxious  in- 
deed to  have  the  reversion  of  Miss  Summers'  place  of 
trust.  She  had  set  her  heart  upon  it,  although  she  knew 
that  as  Miss  Summers  was  no  older  than  herself,  and 
as  little  likely  to  marry,  she  might  fruitlessly  wait  a  life- 
time. Anything  which  suggested  a  possible  rival,  even 
though  it  might  only  be  in  the  distant  future,  was  a  cause 
of  sleeplessness  to  her,  and  after  a  sleepless  night,  when 
all  possible  causes  of  grief,  summoned  from  memory  and 
the  inventions  of  her  own  unquiet  spirit,  came  into  her 


GAGA  127 

head,  Miss  Rapson  was  one  of  the  most  insufferable 
women  in  the  dressmaking.  "If  I  was  boss  here,"  thought 
Sally,  "and  I  had  any  trouble  with  her,  she'd  go  like  a 
shot.  Easily  get  someone  in  her  place."  But  she  did  not 
show  that  she  was  thinking  this.  She  said :  "Yes,  Miss 
Rapson.  No,  Miss  Rapson.  I'll  tell  Miss  Summers, 
Miss  Rapson,"  in  the  most  respectful  way.  It  was  Miss 
Rapson  who  first  suspiciously  sounded  Miss  Summers 
about  Sally.     "Do  you  think  she's  deep  ?"  she  asked. 

Now  that  Miss  Summers  had  more  to  do,  Sally  was 
very  useful  to  her.  Also,  Sally  came  to  admire  Miss 
Summers  more  than  ever.  She  might  be  funny,  with 
her  eternally  cold  nose  and  her  catlike  appearance,  but 
she  was  an  extraordinarily  capable  woman.  She  rose  to 
emergencies,  which  is  the  sign  of  essential  greatness.  Not 
once  did  Sally  see  Miss  Summers  lose  her  nerve.  True, 
there  was  no  need  for  diplomacy  or  large  generalship; 
but  when  work  has  to  be  arranged  so  that  all  customers 
are  satisfied,  not  only  with  its  quality  but  with  the 
promptness  of  its  delivery,  a  good  deal  of  skill  and  man- 
agement is  required.  It  was  forthcoming ;  and  Sally  was 
at  hand  to  give  important  aid.  The  weak  spot  in  the 
government  of  the  business  seemed  to  be  Gaga,  who  be- 
trayed incessant  vacillation,  and  came  in  so  often  to  con- 
sult Miss  Summers  that  she  became  quite  ruffled  and 
indignant  with  him.  "Such  nonsense!"  she  would  say 
to  Sally.  "A  grown  up  man  like  that  asking  such  silly 
questions.  Why  a  girl  would  do  it  better."  She  had  all 
the  capable  woman's  contempt  for  the  average  member 
of  her  own  sex.  "Girls!"  she  would  sniff.  Shrewdly, 
Sally  watched  the  comedy ;  but  for  all  her  shrewdness  she 
never  quite  understood  the  cause  of  Gaga's  weakness. 
It  was  that  Madam  had  insisted  upon  early  obedience  in 
days  when  Gaga's  precocious  ill-health  made  him  pliable; 
and  a  docile  child  becomes  a  tractable  boy  and  finally  a 


128  COQUETTE 

man  who  needs  constant  guidance.  Sall)^  only  saw  the 
last  stage.  She  nodded  grimly  to  herself  one  day.  "Wants 
somebody  to  look  after  him,"  she  said.  "Somebody  to 
manage  him."  With  one  of  her  unerring  supplements, 
she  added  confidently:  "I  could  manage  him.  And  look 
after  him,  too,  for  that  matter.     Poor  lamb !" 

The  extra  work  kept  Miss  Summers  and  Miss  Rapson 
late  almost  every  evening,  and  Sally  also  stayed,  so  that 
in  the  evenings  she  often  saw  Gaga.  She  even,  once  or 
twice,  when  Miss  Summers  had  gone  to  consult  Miss 
Rapson  (who  stood  upon  her  dignity  and  kept  to  her 
own  room),  sought  pretexts  for  going  into  the  room 
where  Gaga  was.  She  went  in  to  look  at  the  Directory, 
or  she  pretended  that  she  had  supposed  Miss  Summers 
with  him;  and  on  these  occasions  she  stood  at  the  door, 
and  talked,  until  Miss  Summers'  imminent  return  made 
her  fly  innocently  back  to  her  seat.  She  enjoyed  observ- 
ing Gaga's  pleasure,  and  even  excitement,  at  her  ap- 
proach. It  gratified  her  naughty  vanity  and  her  impulse 
to  the  exploitation  of  others.  One  evening  when  she  had 
thus  stolen  five  minutes,  she  found  Gaga  ruffling  his  hair 
over  an  account,  and  at  his  great  sigh  of  bewilderment 
she  turned  from  the  book  she  was  needlessly  consulting. 

"Got  a  headache,  Mr.  Bertram?"  she  timidly  and  com- 
miseratingly  asked. 

Gaga  looked  up  at  her  gratefully,  a  comic  expression 
of  dismay  upon  his  face.  The  books  lay  before  him  upon 
the  table,  and  an  account  had  been  transferred  from  one 
to  another.  A  litter  of  papers  was  also  there.  He  was 
in  the  last  stages  of  perplexity. 

"No,"  he  said.  "It's  this  account.  I  can't  make  it  out. 
See  if  you  can." 

Sally  went  and  stood  close  to  him,  leaning  over  to 
examine  the  books,  so  that  his  shoulder  touched  her  side. 
She  knew  that  the  contact  thrilled  him,  and  for  an  instant 


GAGA  129 

was  so  occupied  with  the  recognition  that  she  could  not 
collect  her  thoughts.  He  had  been  adding  up  in  pencil 
on  a  sheet  of  paper  the  two  series  of  entries,  and  there 
was  a  discrepancy  between  them.  Sally  checked  his  fig- 
ures :  there  seemed  nothing  wrong  with  them.  She  her- 
self added  the  two  series  of  entries.  Then,  with  a  point- 
ed finger  she  counted  the  entries.  One  of  them  had  been 
omitted.  Another  examination  showed  which  of  them  it 
was.  She  had  solved  his  mystification.  Her  small  fore- 
finger pointed  to  that  entry  which  accounted  for  the  dif- 
ference in  the  two  casts.  Gaga  looked  up  at  her  in  won- 
dering admiration. 

**What  a  marvellous  girl  you  are!"  he  impulsively 
ejaculated.  "I've  been  worrying  over  this  for  ten  min- 
utes.   Thank  you.     Er — thank  you." 

Still  she  did  not  immediately  leave  him,  and  he  made 
no  attempt  to  move.  It  would  have  been  the  easiest  thing 
for  Gaga  to  encircle  her  with  his  arm,  but  he  did  not  do 
so.    At  last  Sally  started  away. 

"I  must  go,"  she  said  breathlessly. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Minto.  I'm  .  .  .  I'm  so  much  .  .  . 
obliged,"  stammered  Gaga.  She  was  at  the  door.  "Oh, 
Miss  Minto  .  .  ."  Sally  turned,  a  mischievous  expec- 
tancy upon  her  face.  "Er  .  .  ."  Gaga  swallowed.  A 
faint  colour  rose  to  his  grey  cheeks.  "I  say,  I  wish  you'd 
come  out  to  dinner  with  me.     I  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bertram,"  murmured  Sally.  "It's  very  kind 
of  you.    I  .  .  ." 

"Do  come.  I'm  .  .  .  so  much  obliged  to  you,  you 
know.    I  mean,  I  .  .  ," 

Sally  gave  a  quick  nod.  She  peeped  to  see  that  Miss 
Summers  had  not  returned. 

"Well,  you  see,"  she  said.  Then :  "All  right,  I  will. 
Thank  you  very  much." 

"To-night?     In  half  an  hour?     Splendid.     I'l  be  at 


130  COQUETTE 

the  comer  of  the  street.  Just  outside  that  big  corner 
place.  Thank  you.  That'll  be  fine."  He  was  jubilant. 
Sally  went  back  to  her  place  with  her  mouth  puckered 
into  a  curious  smile  that  nobody  could  have  understood. 
She  felt  that  she  had  embarked  at  last  upon  the  inevitable 
adventure  with  Gaga,  and  her  sensation  for  the  moment 
was  one  of  pure  triumph.  A  moment  later,  triumph  was 
suffused  with  a  faint  derision.  She  thought  how  easy  it 
was  to  handle  Gaga.  She  felt  how  easy,  how  temptingly 
easy,  it  would  be  always  to  handle  him.  But  all  the  same 
she  was  rather  excited.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
been  out  to  dinner  with  a  man.  She  knew  he  would  look 
handsome  and  like  a  gentleman ;  she  knew  he  would  have 
plenty  of  money.  She  was  glad  to  think  that  she  was 
wearing  her  newest  frock,  the  smartest  she  had.  Well, 
she  demanded  of  herself,  why  not?  It'll  please  him,  or 
he  wouldn't  have  asked  me!  Would  they  have  wine  to 
drink?  she  wondered.  A  momentary  self-distrust  seized 
her  in  the  matter  of  table-manners ;  but  she  shook  it  off. 
She  would  watch  what  Gaga  did.  She  musn't  drink  too 
much.  She  must  mind  her  step.  Then,  irresistibly: 
'*What  a  lark !"  murmured  Sally.  She  was  very  demure 
upon  Miss  Summers'  return,  and  listened  with  equanim- 
ity to  a  few  remarks  made  by  Miss  Summers  as  to  the 
capacity  of  Miss  Rapson.  In  reality  her  thoughts  were 
occupied  with  speculations  as  to  the  entertainment  which 
lay  ahead.  So  Gaga  had  never  given  Rose  anything; 
more  fool  Rose!  Rose!  She  didn't  know  how  to  man- 
age a  man!  She  didn't  know  anything  at  all.  She  had 
been  born  pretty,  and  she  thought  that  was  all  you  had 
to  do.  Sally  had  not  been  bom  pretty;  she  had  had  to 
fight  against  physical  disadvantages.  It  had  taught  her 
a  great  deal.  It  had  taught  her  the  art  of  tactics.  Sally 
was  very  much  wiser  than  she  had  been  a  year  earlier. 
She  had   learnt  immeasurably   from  her  contact  with 


GAGA  131 

Toby.  She  had  kept  her  eyes  open.  She  was  unscrup- 
ulous. It  was  of  no  use  to  be  scrupulous  in  this  world; 
you  lost  all  the  fun  of  the  fair.  Sally  was  hilarious  at 
her  own  irreverent  unscrupulousness. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  slipped  out,  and  along  the 
street.  Gaga  was  waiting.  He  raised  his  hat — a  thing 
Toby  would  never  have  done  if  he  had  left  her  so  re- 
cently— and  fell  into  step  beside  her.  Sally  shot  a  bright 
eye  full  of  assurance.  As  Gaga  showed  himself  nervous, 
so  her  assurance  increased. 

"Where  would  you  like  to  go?"  asked  Gaga. 

**Oo,  you  know  better  than  ...  I  do,"  answered 
Sally,  meekly.  He  stopped  for  a  moment;  then  turned 
eastward;  then  stopped  afresh,  hesitating  until  Sally 
slightly  frowned. 

"Yes,  we'll  go  to  the  Singe  d'Or,"  he  explained.  "Un- 
less you  .  .  .  No,  we'll  go  to  the  Rezzonico.  You'd 
like  to  have  music,  I  expect.  You  know,  it's  awfully 
good  of  you  to  come.  I've  wanted  to  talk  to  you  ever 
since  I  heard  you  sing  so  beautifully." 

The  Love  Path!  Sally  gave  a  start.  What  had  Mrs. 
Perce  said !  Sally  might  not  have  a  fortune  in  her  voice, 
she  mi^schievously  thought ;  but  at  least  she  had  a  dinner ! 
Well,  master  Toby ;  and  what  did  he  think  of  that,  if  you 
please  ? 

"I'm  very  fond  of  music,"  she  said,  glibly. 

"I  could  tell  .  .  ."  There  was  a  pause.  "Do  you  .  .  . 
do  you  sing  much?" 

"No,  not  much."  Sally  was  speaking  like  a  lady. 
"Ai  .  .  .  a  .  .  don't  get  very  much  taime.  I'm  very 
fond  of.  It's  so  .  .  .  it's  so.  .  .  ."  She  was  rather  lost 
for  a  phrase  that  should  sound  well. 

"Quite,  quite,"  agreed  Gaga,  eagerly. 

"I  wish  I  could  play,"  Sally  hurried  to  say,  feeling  that 
she  had  failed  in  effectiveness.     He  was  loud  in  protest 


132  COQUETTE 

against  her  modesty.     "Well,  I  mean,  I've  never — well, 
hardly  ever — had  any  lessons.     No,  nor  my  voice.     It'a 

just  ear.    Mrs.  P a  friend  of  maine  says  I've  got  a 

very  quick  ear."  Every  now  and  then  Sally  was  betrayed 
into  Nosey-like  refinement.  She  fought  against  it 
from  an  instinctive  feeling  that  it  was  meretricious.  But 
at  the  same  time  she  was  speaking  with  instinctive  care, 
so  as  to  avoid  Cockney  phrases,  and  pronunciations,  and 
tones.  She  wanted  him  to  think  her — something  that  she 
called  "nice."  They  walked  the  length  of  Regent  Street, 
chatting  thus;  and  at  last  reached  the  gilded  Rezzonico, 
where  there  were  Hveried  men  who  seized  Gaga's  hat  and 
stick,  and  maitres  d'hotel  who  hurried  them  this  way  and 
that  in  search  of  a  table  in  the  crowded,  din-filled  room. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  enormous  mirrors  which 
were  surrounded  by  gaudy  mouldings.  Tables  were 
everywhere,  and  all  appeared  to  be  occupied.  Men  and 
women  in  evening  dress,  men  and  women  in  morning 
clothes,  some  of  the  women  painted,  others  ordinary  re- 
spectable'^ members  of  the  bourgeoisie,  were  sitting  and 
dining  and  smoking  and  chattering  loudly.  Glasses,  cig- 
arettes, bottles,  all  sorts  of  dishes,  strewn  upon  the  tables, 
caught  Sally's  bewildered  eye.  Above  all,  a  scratching 
orchestra  rasped  out  a  selection  from  one  of  Verdi's 
operas.  A  huge  unmanageable  noise  of  talk  and  laughter 
swelled  the  torrent  of  sound.  Deafened,  her  nerve  de- 
stroyed, Sally  timidly  followed  the  apparently  aimless 
wanderings  of  Gaga  and  the  maitres  d'hotel,  her  shoul- 
ders stiff  with  self -consciousness  in  face  of  so  many  star- 
ing eyes  and  well-fed,  well-dressed  creatures;  and  at  last 
they  found  a  table.  It  was  a  bad  table,  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  near  the  band  and  the  cash  desk  and  a  sort  of 
sideboard  into  which  bottles  were  ceaselessly  dumped.  A 
very  old  waiter,  with  white  side  whiskers  like  those  of 
the  late  Emperor  Franz  Josef,  very  foreign  and  therefore 


GAGA  133 

particularly  liable  to  misconstrue  Gaga's  stammered 
orders,  served  them  with  hors  d'oeuvres,  slashing  down 
upon  Sally's  plate  inconceivable  mixtures  of  white  and 
red  and  green  fragments ;  and  then  hurried  away  as  fast 
as  his  bunions  allowed.  Gaga  was  left  to  choose  the  wine, 
which  he  managed  to  do  after  many  consultations  with 
Sally  and  the  waiter,  and  many  changes  of  mind  upon 
his  own  account.  Sally  riddled  all  his  uncertainties  with 
a  merciless  eye.  He  apparently  knew  a  wine-list  when 
he  saw  one ;  but  his  nervousness  was  so  palpable  that  she 
was  inclined  even  to  suspect  his  knowledge.  It  was  an 
injustice.  She  soon  realised  that  the  band  was  too  noisy 
for  talk,  and  the  sideboard  too  shattering  even  for  co- 
herent thought.  She  knew,  in  fact,  at  the  first  encounter, 
that  this  was  a  bad  table,  and  that  bad  tables  were  to  be 
avoided  by  any  expert  eye.  She  knew  the  waiter  was  a 
bad  waiter,  and  that  Gaga  was  a  bad  host.  She  had  her 
first  lesson  in  the  art  of  dining  out  at  a  restaurant. 

But  she  dined !  She  drank  more  wine  than  she  had 
intended  to  do,  and  it  went  to  her  head.  She  laughed, 
and  became  talkative,  forgetting  her  refined  accent,  and 
thereby  enjoying  herself  very  much  more  than  she  would 
otherwise  have  done,  and  becoming  a  good  and  lively 
companion  for  the  meal.  Gaga  could  not  respond  to  her 
talk,  because  it  quickly  became  evident  that,  with  all  the 
good  will  in  the  world,  he  could  not  talk ;  but  as  the  wine 
reached  his  head  also  he  began  to  laugh  at  her  remarks, 
and  to  look  at  her  with  such  an  expression  of  adoration 
in  his  chocolate  eyes  that  Sally  grew  more  and  more  at 
ease  and  more  and  more  familiar  with  the  passing  of  each 
minute,  and  the  increasing  effect  of  the  wine  she  had 
taken.  She  sparkled,  less  in  her  speech  than  in  her  ex- 
hilarated and  exhilarating  manner.  She  was  all  nerves, 
all  dancing  coquettry. 

"Don't  look  at  me  like  that!"   she  pleaded,  archly. 


134  COQUETTE 

Gaga's  eyes  glowed,  and  his  mouth  was  stretched  with 
laughing.    "Make  me  feel  as  if  .  .  ." 

"How  do  I  look  at  you?  How  does  it  make  you  feel?" 
asked  Gaga  with  that  kind  of  persistent  seriousness  with 
which  a  man  talks  to  a  pretty  girl  when  he  has  drunk 
enough  wine.  "Tell  me,  Sally,  how  does  it  make  you 
feel,  Sally?"  He  reached  his  hand  across  the  table,  and 
laid  it  upon  hers.  "I  mean,  Sally  ...  I  mean,  if  it 
makes  you  feel  .  .  .  I'm  sorry,  d'you  see  ?  I  look  at  you 
as  I  feel.  I  don't  know  how  I  look  at  you.  I  look  at 
you  .  .  ." 

Gaga  was  not  at  all  drunk ;  he  was  merely  sententious 
and  sentimental.  Sally  darted  a  roguish  eye,  first  round 
her,  and  then  at  Gaga,  enjoying  very  specially  this  stage 
of  the  meal.  It  was  all  fun  to  her,  all  flattering  to  her 
vanity,  all  a  part  of  the  noise  and  excitement  and  well- 
being  that  was  making  her  spirits  mount.  She  allowed 
her  hand  to  remain  under  his  for  a  moment;  then  tried 
to  draw  it  away;  then  pinched  his  thumb  gently  and  re- 
covered her  liberty.  Gaga  was  unlike  Toby.  He  had  not 
the  assurance  of  the  physically  vigorous.  He  was  gentle, 
mild,  stammering,  and  ineffective.  But  he  was  giving 
Sally  a  glorious  evening's  entertainment.  At  one  step 
they  had  overleapt  all  that  separated  them,  and  were 
friends.  He  began  to  tell  her,  unasked,  about  his  busi- 
ness, about  his  mother,  about  everything. 

"My  mother's  a  wonderful  woman,"  he  said.  "Won- 
derful! She's  made  that  business  with  her  own  hands. 
She  began  in  a  small  way,  and  the  business  is  almost  out 
of  her  control.  Not  quite;  but  .  .  .  She's  done  it  all 
herself.  All  herself.  Wonderful  woman.  And  yet,  you 
know,  Sally;  she's  hard.  I  wonder  if  you  understand 
what  I  mean?  She's  always  been  a  good  mother  to  me. 
I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  good.  There's  the  business 
I'm  in,  for  example.    But  Sally  .  .  .  I'm  not  a  business 


GAGA  135 

man.  ...  If  I  had  somebody  to  do  the  business  side, 
I've  got  ...  I  can  design  dresses.  That's  what  I'm  good 
at.  She  knows.  She  lets  me  design  them,  sometimes. 
I've  got  a  touch,  d'you  see?  But  she's  hard.  She's  so 
afraid  of  anybody  meddUng.  She's  made  that  business 
herself,  and  she  won't  let  anybody  else  touch  it.  She  has 
me  to  help  her  with  the  accounts ;  but,  as  I  say,  I'm  not  a 
business  man.  She  thinks  I'm  a  fool.  Yon  don't  think 
I'm  a  fool,  do  you,  Sally?" 

"Me?  You?"  cried  Sally,  looking  at  him  guilelessly. 
"Mr.  Bertram!" 

"She's  very  ill,  Sally,  Very  ill  indeed,  I  can  see  it. 
You  know,  you  feel  something.  You  see  her  keeping  on 
and  keeping  on.  Something's  bound  to  go,  sooner  or 
later.  It  worries  me,  Sally.  It  worries  me."  From  his 
long  and  unusually  consecutive  speech.  Gaga  fell  into  a 
silence.  Meaninglessly,  he  repeated:  "It  worries  me. 
That's  one  reason  I  asked  you  to  come  out  to-night,  Sally. 
I'm  worried." 

"Poor  man !"  murmured  Sally. 

"You  know,  you're  kind,  Sally.  I  can  see  your  little 
bright  eyes  shining;  and  they  make  me  .  .  .  they  make 
me  .  .  ."  He  was  once  again  the  old,  incoherent  Gaga, 
fingering  his  unused  cheese  knife  and  looking  at  her  with 
an  expression  of  pathetic  helplessness  that  made  Sally 
wary  lest  she  should  betray  amusement.  "I  feel  you 
understand.  You're  not  very  old,  Sally;  but  I  feel  you 
understand.  And  ,  .  .  I've  always  felt  that.  You're 
such  a  wonderful  little  girl.  I  mean  .  .  ."  He  broke 
off  with  a  gesture  of  vague  despair  of  his  power  to  say 
what  he  actually  did  mean.    "I  feel  you  can  help  me." 

"Can  I  ?"  asked  Sally,  swiftly.    "I'd  love  to," 

"Would  you  really?"  Gaga's  tone  was  a  fresh  one,  one 
of  hope  and  light. 

"Course  I  would,"  responded  Sally.    Already  she  was 


136  COQUETTE 

aware  of  practical  advantages.  Her  heightened  spirits 
were  sobered  immediately.  But  her  face  did  not  betray 
this.  Her  face  continued  the  demure  face  of  a  young 
girl,  not  from  any  artfulness,  but  because  she  was  in  fact 
a  demure  young  girl,  and  her  hidden  mental  calculations 
did  not  yet  show  in  her  habitual  expression. 

"You'll  be  friends  with  me?"  Gaga  said,  as  though  h* 
asked  a  great  favour. 

"If  you'll  let  me,"  answered  Sally,  as  though  she  coni 
ferred  one. 

The  movement  of  hands  was  almost  simultaneous,  but 
it  began  with  Sally.  Gaga  clasped  her  left  one  in  his 
right.  Only  for  a  minute.  Then  Sally  could  not  resist 
a  giggle,  and  the  compact  was  unsignalised.  They  talked 
further,  Sally  once  again  in  a  state  of  delight,  and  Gaga 
inclined  to  be  repetitious.  And  then,  as  it  was  nine 
o'clock,  Sally  said  she  must  go.  He  saw  her  to  her  omni- 
bus, and  they  parted  as  friends.  From  her  seat  inside, 
as  the  bus  moved  off,  Sally  waved  to  him ;  and  afterwards 
settled  down  to  the  journey,  full  of  memories  and  reflec- 
tions of  a  curious  and  enchanting  character.  Not  of 
Gaga  were  these  reflections,  save  with  an  occasionally 
frowning  brow  of  doubt;  but  of  the  remarkable  vista 
which  had  been  opened  by  his  demand  for  friendship  and 
help.  An  excited  recollection  of  the  lights  and  the  mir- 
rors and  the  overwhelming  noise  of  the  restaurant  intoxi- 
cated her  afresh.  Her  whole  face  was  shining  with  ex- 
citement. She  smiled  to  herself,  occupied  with  such  a 
mixture  of  sensations  and  imaginings  that  at  one  mo- 
ment she  wondered  whether  she  was  Sally  Minto  at  all, 
and  whether  some  magician  had  not  changed  that  Sally 
for  a  new  creature  bom  to  spend  her  days  in  gaudy  res- 
taurants and  among  all  the  noise  and  luxury  of  such  a 
life  as  she  had  led  this  evening  for  an  hour  and  a  half. 

One  moment  at  home  was  enough  to  convince  Sally 


GAGA  137 

that  no  magician  had  been  at  work.  It  was  the  same 
squalid  house,  and  the  same  squalid  room  that  she 
reached  after  the  splendour  of  her  dinner.  And  it  was 
the  same  fretful  mother  who  complained  of  her  lateness 
and  chided  her  for  the  dangers  she  ran  in  being  about 
the  streets  so  late.  Sally  made  no  answer.  She  looked 
in  the  mirror  at  the  dilated  pupils  of  her  glowing  eyes, 
and  at  her  flushed  cheeks  and  laughing  lips ;  and  her  heart 
first  sank  and  then  violently  rebelled  against  the  contrast 
of  this  hideous  place  with  the  light  and  colour  she  had 
left.  She  was  a  rebel.  The  contrast  was  too  great.  How 
could  she  live  in  a  room  like  this?  How  could  anybody 
live?  It  was  not  life  at  all,  but  a  mere  grovelling.  And 
Sally  had  tasted  something  that  thrilled  her.  She  had 
come  into  contact  with  a  life  resembling  the  life  led  by 
those  who  travelled  in  the  motor  broughams  she  so  much 
admired.  She  was  ravenous  for  such  a  life.  Her  nat- 
ural arrogance  was  roused  and  inflamed  by  the  compari- 
son she  so  instinctively  made  between  her  natural  sur- 
roundings and  those  to  which  she  felt  she  was  entitled 
by  her  capacities.  She  thought  with  contempt  of  the 
other  girls  at  Madame  Gala's.  The  wine  she  had  drunk, 
the  noises  she  had  heard,  mounted  higher.  She  was 
primed  with  conceit  and  excitement.  Hitherto  she  had 
only  determined  by  ambition  to  use  the  world  and  attain 
comfort  and  success.  Now  she  felt  the  power  to  attain 
this  success.  She  could  not  experience  the  feeling  with- 
out despising  every  other  feeling.  She  looked  round  the 
room  in  scorn — at  the  dull,  shabby  bed,  and  the  meagre 
furniture,  and  at  the  little  old  woman  who  sat  by  the 
empty  fireplace  with  so  miserable  an  air  of  confirmed 
poverty.  She  looked  higher,  at  Miss  Jubb,  and  saw 
afresh  the  stupid  incompetence  of  such  a  creature.  Even 
old  Perce  and  Mrs.  Perce  led  in  her  new  vision  a  life  that 
•was  good  enough  for  them,  but  not  good  enough  for 


138  COQUETTE 

Sally.  There  was  a  better  way,  and  Sally  would  not 
rest  until  she  had  secured  that  way.  And  she  had  the 
opportunity  opening  to  her.  Gaga  had  shown  her  as 
much.  With  the  vehement  exaggeration  of  youth  that 
is  still  half-childhood,  Sally  saw  her  own  genius.  She 
felt  that  the  world  was  already  in  her  grasp.  She  felt 
like  a  financier  before  a  coup.  She  felt  like  a  commander 
who  sees  the  enemy  v/aver.  For  this  night  triumph 
seemed  at  hand,  through  some  means  which  the  heat  of 
her  brain  did  not  allow  her  to  analyse,  but  only  to  relish 
with  exultation. 


In  the  morning  Sally  had  a  heavy  head  as  the  result 
of  her  unusual  entertainment,  and  she  awoke  to  a  sense 
of  disillusion.  The  room  was  the  same  ugly  room,  but 
her  dreams  had  fled.  So  must  Cinderella  have  felt  upon 
awaking  after  her  first  ball.  The  colours  had  faded ;  the 
rapturous  consciousness  of  power  had  died  in  the  night. 
Sally  felt  a  little  girl  once  more,  younger  and  more  impo- 
tent than  she  had  been  for  months.  The  walk  to  Regent 
Street  restored  her.  She  once  again  imagined  herself 
into  the  talk  with  Gaga;  she  stressed  his  offer  of  friend- 
ship and  his  plea  for  help.  It  would  be  all  right ;  it  was 
all  right.  She  had  made  no  mistake.  Only,  she  was  not 
as  carelessly  happy  as  she  had  been  in  the  first  realisation. 
She  had  recognised  that  the  battle  was  not  yet  won,  and 
that  much  had  still  to  be  done  before  she  could  claim  the 
victory  which  last  night  had  seemed  in  her  hands.  At  all 
events,  hatred  of  her  little  ugly  home  was  undiminished. 
She  felt  horror  of  it. 

Arrived  at  the  work  room,  Sally  saw  It  in  a  new  light. 
She  was  permanently  changed.  The  girls  had  become 
nothing;  even  Miss  Summers  had  become  a  very  good 
sort  of  woman,  but  subtly  inferior.    There  was  not  one 


GAGA  139 

of  the  girls  who  could  help  Gaga  as  she  was  going  to  do ; 
not  one  of  them  who  could  earn  the  advantages  which 
Sally  was  going  to  reap.  She  settled  almost  with  impa- 
tience to  work  which  last  night  had  been  left  unfinished. 
All  the  time  that  she  was  engaged  upon  it  her  thoughts 
were  with  other  prospects,  other  deliberate  intentions. 
She  was  restless  and  uneasy — first  of  all  until  she  had 
seen  Gaga  and  gauged  her  effect  upon  him  in  the  morn- 
ing's grey,  finally  because  another  secret  conflict  was  go- 
ing on  beneath  her  attention.  She  did  not  understand 
what  she  was  feeling,  and  this  made  her  the  more  easily 
exasperated  when  cotton  knotted  or  a  sudden  noise  made 
her  head  throb.  "I'm  out  of  sorts,"  she  thought.  She 
tried  to  laugh  in  saying:  "The  morning  after  the  night 
before."    Her  malaise  was  something  more  than  that. 

Gaga  came  into  the  room  during  the  morning,  haggard 
and  anxious-looking.  The  lines  in  his  pallid  face  were 
emphasised;  his  eyes  had  a  faintly  yellowish  tinge  like 
the  white  of  a  stale  egg.  In  shooting  her  first  lightning 
observation  of  him  Sally  clicked  "Bilious."  There  w?/' 
a  little  smile  between  them,  and  Gaga  went  out  of  the 
room  again,  languid  and  indifferent  to  everything  that 
was  occurring  round  him.  Sally  had  an  impulse  to  find 
some  reason  for  going  into  his  room,  but  she  did  not  dare 
to  go.  She  sewed  busily.  Perhaps  she  would  see  him 
later.  She  peeped  into  the  room  at  lunch-time,  but  he 
was  not  there,  and  in  the  afternoon  she  heard  from  Miss 
Summers  that  he  was  unwell,  and  would  not  be  coming 
back  that  day.  She  heard  the  news  with  relief;  but  also 
with  sudden  fright.  If — if — if  he  should  have  become 
afraid  of  her!  If  he  should  have  repented!  If,  instead 
of  allowing  her  to  help  and  to  benefit.  Gaga  should  be- 
come her  enemy!  Men  were  so  strange  in  the  way  they 
behaved  to  girls — so  suspicious  and  funny  and  brusque — 
that  anything   might   have  happened   in   Gaga's   mind. 


140  COQUETTE 

Sally  recollected  herself.  This  mood  was  a  bad  mood: 
any  loss  of  self-confidence  was  with  her  a  sign  of  tempo- 
rary ill-health.  She  magnificently  recovered  her  natural 
conceitedness.     She  was  Sally, 

In  the  evening  she  went  home  early,  to  her  mother's 
interest  and  pleasure;  but  there  was  nothing  to  do  at 
home  and  the  atmosphere  was  insufferable.  It  drove  her 
forth,  and  she  walked  in  the  twilight,  longing  for  Toby 
to  be  with  her.  He  would  not  have  understood  all  she 
was  thinking — he  would  angrily  have  hated  most  of  it — 
but  his  company  would  have  distracted  her  mind  and  oc- 
cupied her  attention.  She  thought  of  Toby  at  sea  on 
this  beautiful  evening,  with  the  stars  pale  in  an  opal  sky; 
and  she  could  see  him  standing  upon  the  deck  of  the 
"Florence  Drake"  in  his  blue  jersey  without  a  hat,  with 
the  breeze  playing  on  his  crisp  hair  and  his  brown  face. 
A  yearning  for  Toby  filled  her.  Tears  started  to  her 
eyes.  She  loved  him,  she  felt,  more  than  she  had  ever 
done:  she  needed  him  with  her,  not  to  understand  her, 
but  to  brace  her  with  the  support  of  his  strong  arms. 
Sally  dried  her  eyes  and  blew  her  nose.  "Here !"  she  said 
to  herself.     "Stop  it!    I'm  getting  soppy!" 

She  presently  passed  the  ugly  building  of  a  i^oard 
School,  not  the  one  which  she  had  attended,  but  one 
nearer  her  present  home.  Outside  it,  and  within  the 
railings  protecting  the  asphalted  playground  from  the 
footpath,  was  a  notice-board  upon  which  was  pasted  a 
bill  advertising  the  evening  classes  which  would  be  held 
there  during  the  Autumn  Session.  Idly,  Sally  stopped 
to  read  down  the  list  of  subjects — and  the  first  that 
caught  her  eye,  of  course,  was  dressmaking.  She  gave 
a  sniff.  Funny  lot  of  girls  would  go  to  that.  Girls  trying 
to  do  Miss  Jubb  out  of  a  job.  Sally  glimpsed  their  ef- 
forts. She  had  seen  girls  in  dresses  which  they  had  made 
themselves.    Poor  mites !  she  thought.    Paper  patterns  for 


GAGA  141 

somebody  twice  their  size,  and  bad  calculations  of  the 
necessary  reductions.  Tape-measures  round  their  own 
waists  and  twisted  two  or  three  times  at  the  back,  which 
they  could  not  see.  Blunt  scissors,  clumsy  hands,  bad 
material.  ...  It  was  a  nightmare  to  Sally.  She  did 
not  go  far  enough  to  imagine  the  despairs,  the  aching 
hands,  the  tears,  which  attended  the  realisation  of  an 
evening's  botch.  She  was  not  really  a  very  humane  per- 
son. She  had  both  too  much  imagination  for  that  in- 
firmity of  the  will,  and  not  enough.  She  passed  from 
dress-making  to  the  other  subjects. 

There  was  one  that  made  her  jump,  so  much  did  it 
seem  to  be  named  there  for  her  o^vn  especial  benefit.  It 
was  "Book-keeping."  Sally  was  taken  aback.  She 
scanned  the  details.  Two  lessons  a  week,  on  Mondays 
and  Thursdays,  at  eight  o'clock.  A  disdain  filled  her. 
She  would  not  be  as  the  other  girls.  She  would  learn 
book-keeping.  She  would  understand  figures.  Then  she 
could  help  Gaga  with  precisely  that  work  which  he  con- 
fessed himself  unable  to  do.  Sally  memorised  the  details. 
It  was  enough ;  she  was  ready  for  anything.  As  the  fol- 
lowing Monday  was  the  first  night  of  the  session  she 
would  be  present  then. 

And  so,  her  ambition  mounting  once  more  to  arro- 
gance, Sally  returned  to  bed  and  her  mother,  and  bread 
and  margarine,  and  the  dingy  room  on  the  second-floor- 
back. 

xi 

The  book-keeping  class  was  held  in  one  of  the  ordinary 
classrooms,  separated  from  others  by  high  partitions  of 
wood  which  were  continued  to  the  ceiling  in  panes  of 
glass.  The  room  was  filled  with  forms  and  desks,  but 
the  class  was  so  small  that  all  those  composing  it  (and 
there  were  fewer  still  after  the  first  six  lessons)  were  put 


142  COQUETTE 

into  the  first  two  or  three  rows  of  desks.  The  teacher 
was  a  Httle  sandy  man  who  made  well-trodden  jokes  and 
talked  in  a  wheezy  voice  well  suited  to  his  appearance. 
He  used  the  blackboard,  and  stood  upon  tiptoe  to  scrawl 
upon  it  in  a  large  handwriting.  That  was  at  the  begin- 
ning. Later,  methods  developed;  but  for  the  present 
Sally  and  the  others  were  merely  initiated  into  the  first 
movements  of  the  difficult  craft.  With  amazement  she 
began  to  learn  the  mysteries  of  the  signs  "Dr."  and 
"Cr.",  the  words  "Balances",  "carried  forward",  etc., 
and  the  meanings  of  such  things  as  ruled  diagonal  lines. 
It  was  to  her  like  the  game  of  learning  chess,  and  she  had 
the  additional  pleasure  of  knowing  that  with  the  solution 
of  each  problem  she  was  adding  appreciably  to  her  knowl- 
edge, and  to  a  knowledge  which  henceforward  would  not 
be  wasted,  as  she  could  turn  it,  as  of  all  things  she  most 
desired,  to  immediate  use.  Madam's  accounts  would  no 
longer  be  a  source  of  trouble  or  bewilderment  to  her.  She 
knew  very  soon  that  they  would  be  mere  child's  play  to 
her  instructed  intelligence. 

From  the  teacher  and  the  lessons,  Sally  turned  to  her 
fellow  pupils.  There  were  about  twenty  of  these,  the 
sexes  almost  equally  represented,  but  with  the  girls  in  a 
slight  majority.  One  or  two  of  the  young  men  were 
pale  and  spectacled,  and  so  they  did  not  interest  her.  The 
girls  were  generally  of  a  higher  class  than  her  own,  were 
obviously  already  employed  as  clerks  in  offices,  and  were 
rather  older  than  herself.  They  were  the  daughters  of 
tradesmen  or  clerks,  and  all  lived  at  home  in  the  better 
streets  of  the  neighbourhood.  They  were  neatly  dressed, 
but  she  was  easily  the  smartest  of  the  audience.  The 
other  girls  looked  at  her  hair  and  her  complexion,  and 
then  at  each  other ;  and  a  feud  began.  Sally  was  consoled 
by  the  evident  interest  of  the  young  men,  who  often  cast 
glances  in  her  direction.    She  sat  demurely,  as  if  imcon- 


GAGA  143 

scious,  but  in  her  wicked  heart  there  was  glee  at  the 
knowledge  that  this  same  young  person  Sally,  once  the 
despised  companion  of  May  Pearcey,  had  in  a  year  at- 
tained such  new  charm  as  to  be  attractive  to  these  young 
men.  She  shrugged  her  shoulders  at  the  thought  of  it. 
Had  she  been  an  onlooker  she  would  have  been  amused 
or  cynical.  As  she  was  the  cynosure  of  the  emotional 
eye  of  the  whole  class  she  could  view  the  natural  pro- 
cesses of  all  such  gatherings  with  satisfaction.  Her 
shrugs  were  for  the  respectable  and  alienated  girls,  who 
were  like  sparrows  chattering  over  a  brilliant  intruder; 
to  the  young  men  she  offered  an  air  of  imperviousness 
to  their  cajoleries  which  made  her  seem  to  at  least  three 
of  them  a  young  person  whom  it  might  be  pleasant  and 
titillating  to  know.  The  general  arrangement  of  feel- 
ings towards  her  was  evident  at  the  third  lesson.  By  the 
fourth  it  had  taken  a  quite  definite  form.  She  had  ex- 
changed conversation  with  the  three  men :  she  had  smiled 
provokingly  at  the  girls.  The  girls  mentioned  her  at 
home,  and  to  their  friends;  the  young  men  did  not  men- 
tion her  to  anybody. 

The  men  were  all  older  than  she,  were  in  employment, 
and  although  some  of  them  were  still  at  home  the  ma- 
jority of  them  were  in  lodgings  in  Holloway,  were  lonely, 
and  were  desirous  of  improving  their  positions.  This 
was  the  case  with  Sally's  three  admirers.  Of  the  three, 
her  immediate  favourite,  because  he  most  nearly  resem- 
bled Toby  in  physical  type,  was  a  thickset  dark  young 
man  with  a  budding  black  moustache  and  polished  eyes 
and  a  strong  pink  upon  his  cheekbones.  But  after  she 
had  looked  at  him  a  few  times  she  decided  that  he  had 
Jewish  blood,  and  Jews  were  among  her  aversions.  So, 
although  his  name  was  Robertson,  she  passed  him  over 
in  favour  of  a  tall,  rather  bony  fair  youth  of  about  three 
and  twenty  with  smooth  hair  and  a  lean,  conceited  hu- 


144  COQUETTE 

morous  face.  He  had  assurance,  which  she  adored,  and 
his  great  length  made  it  queer  to  be  talking  to  him,  be- 
cause she  had  to  look  high  up  to  see  his  face.  He  always 
wore  a  light-coloured  tweed  suit,  and  a  knitted  tie  of 
about  ten  different  colours,  and  his  aquiline  nose  and 
jaimty  manner  gave  him  an  air  of  knowingness  which 
she  much  appreciated.  He  was  a  stockkeeper  in  a  pub- 
lishing house,  and  came  from  the  South  of  England.  His 
voice  was  light  in  tone,  and  he  had  a  delightful  burr. 
This  young  man,  Harry  Simmons,  became  her  friend, 
and  soon  walked  part  of  the  way  home  with  her  after 
each  lesson.  He  talked  politics  to  her,  and  explained  all 
sorts  of  things  which  she  had  never  before  known.  He 
told  her  how  books  were  made,  and  how  they  were  de- 
livered unbound  in  great  bales;  and  when  she  said  "a 
book"  meaning  "a  paper,"  he  corrected  her.  Sally  liked 
him.  Of  the  three  men  she  now  knew  well  he  was  the 
best-informed.  Accordingly  she  learnt  more,  intellec- 
tually, from  him  than  from  either  of  the  others.  He 
quickly  fell  in  love  with  her,  which  was  an  added  pleas- 
ure ;  and  she  once  or  twice  let  him  kiss  her,  without  prom- 
ising anything  or  revealing  the  existence  of  Toby.  She 
never  kissed  Harry  in  return,  a  fact  which  she  cherished 
as  a  proof  of  her  innocence.  But  she  liked  him  very  much, 
and  told  him  more  about  herself  than  she  had  ever  told 
anybody  else.  And  as  there  is  nothing  like  the  use  of 
such  care  and  such  flexible  and  uncertain  kindness,  when 
it  is  not  calculated,  for  tantalising  a  young  man  who  is 
agreeably  in  love  with  a  young  girl,  Sally  had  a  new  de- 
light, a  new  self-flattery,  to  cosset.  The  affair  did  not 
become  very  desperate  in  Harry's  case — he  was  too  con- 
ceited, and  he  knew  the  rules  of  the  game  too  well — and 
at  length  it  subsided  normally;  but  it  lasted  pleasantly 
and  instructively  enough  for  perhaps  four  months,  and 
the  memory  for  both  was  one  of  smiling  amusement, 


/  GAGA  145 

untempered  by  chagrin.  Sally's  one  dread  in  the  whole 
course  of  her  friendship  with  Harry  was  a  dread  lest 
Toby  should  see  them  together.  That  Harry  should  see 
her  with  Toby  she  did  not  mind,  because  she  could  at  any 
time  have  relinquished  Harry  without  a  qualm;  but  she 
loved  Toby,  and  took  care  to  keep  secret  from  him  on 
their  infrequent  meetings  anything  which  might  disturb 
his  ardent  thoughts  of  the  little  girl  he  had  left  at  home. 

So  book-keeping  went  on.  And  so  Harry  went  on. 
But  by  now  Sally's  interests  had  become  many,  for  she 
was  leading  a  busy  life,  and  the  difficulty  of  maintaining 
all  her  affairs  at  the  necessary  pitch  of  freshness  and 
importance  in  her  attention  was  increasing.  She  had  to 
think  of  her  work,  of  Madam  and  her  now  frequent  fits 
of  illness,  of  Gaga,  of  Miss  Summers,  of  money,  of 
Harry,  of  book-keeping,  of  clothes,  and  of  her  mother. 
Mrs.  Perce  she  rarely  saw  during  this  period,  because  as 
Sally  found  new  preoccupations  she  was  bound  to  shed 
some  of  her  old  ones.  She  thought  very  nicely  of  Mrs. 
Perce ;  but  she  had  at  the  moment  no  time  for  her.  Mrs. 
Perce  belonged  to  a  passing  stage,  and  had  not  yet  a 
niche  in  the  new  one.  Toby  she  saw  still  more  seldom 
than  anybody;  but  for  Toby  Sally's  feelings  underwent 
no  obvious  change.  They  developed  as  her  character 
matured,  but  they  did  not  alter.  She  embraced  him,  as 
it  were,  with  her  mind.  Toby  was  somehow  different 
from  all  the  others.  He  was  a  part  of  herself.  She  did 
not  know  why,  but  he  stood  alone,  whenever  she  thought 
of  him,  wonderfuly  strange,  and  strong,  and  enduring, 
as  much  Toby  as  she  was  Sally.  She  did  not  fear  him. 
In  some  ways  she  despised  him,  for  being  so  little  pliable,, 
so  little  supple  in  his  way  of  managing  the  world.  But 
she  adored  him  as  a  man,  and  as  a  simple-minded  baby 
who  unerringly  made  her  happy  by  his  assurance,  and 
delighted  her  by  behaving  as  though  she  was  something 


146  COQUETTE 

belonging  solely  to  himself.  So  long  as  she  was  confident 
that  about  nine-tenths  of  her  life  was  outside  the  range 
of  Toby's  understanding,  Sally  enjoyed  his  delusion.  It 
gave  her  such  a  sense  of  superiority  that  she  relished  her 
submission  to  his  will  in  all  trifles.  She  never  felt  that 
his  absences  made  him  a  stranger.  Rather,  she  felt  that 
they  increased  and  intensified  her  love  and  her  desire  for 
him.  These  at  least  were  unabated — more  ardent  than 
ever.  And  the  absences  certainly  made  Toby  all  the  more 
boisterously  glad  to  see  her  whenever  he  returned  from 
a  voyage,  and  more  demonstratively  affectionate  when 
they  were  alone  together. 

xii 

Madame  Gala  had  returned  to  work  and  Gaga  had 
gone  into  the  country  by  the  time  Sally  had  joined  her 
book-keeping  class;  and  so  that  matter  seemed  to  be  in 
abeyance.  The  ease  with  which  the  fabric  of  her  newest 
plan  had  been  made  to  collapse  discomfited  Sally,  who 
was  always  impatient  for  quick  results;  but  she  did  not 
abandon  hope.  She  believed  in  her  star.  She  had  seen 
very  little  of  Gaga  since  their  dinner.  He  had  avoided 
her,  with  some  tokens  of  slight  constraint,  although  his 
greetings  had  been  almost  furtively  reassuring.  That 
alone  would  have  made  her  believe  that  he  had  not  for- 
gotten his  promise.  Sally  bade  despair  stand  back.  Al- 
ways, hitherto,  she  had  found  her  own  level:  she  would 
do  it  again  in  this  instance.  She  had  the  grit  of  the  am- 
bitious person  who  succeeds.  Hers  was  not  a  vague  or 
unwarrantable  conceit :  she  would  work  for  its  fulfilment. 
It  is  the  mark  of  the  great. 

While  she  was  waiting,  she  one  day  received  a  letter 
from  Toby,  announcing  his  imminent  arrival  in  London. 
He  would  wait  outside  Madame  Gala's,  and  they  would 


GAGA  147 

spend  his  leave  together.  It  was  now  the  beginning  of 
October,  and  a  fine  Autumn  had  begun.  The  days,  al- 
though rapidly  growing  shorter,  were  warm  and  cordial. 
They  were  better  than  the  summer  days.  There  was  a 
crispness  in  the  air,  but  there  was  no  chill.  Filled  with 
pleasure,  Sally  wore  her  prettiest  clothes  that  morning, 
and  Toby  was  waiting  in  the  sunshine  at  the  comer  of 
the  street,  and  they  met  with  light  hearts.  It  was  just 
one  o'clock.  At  once  they  found  a  tea-shop,  and  had 
lunch;  and  then  Toby  sprang  upon  her  a  proposal  that 
they  should  go  to  Richmond  for  the  afternoon,  and  to 
Brighton  the  following  day.  He  appeared  to  have  plenty 
of  money  for  both  jaunts.  He  had  planned  them  as  soon 
as  he  knew  the  date  of  his  arrival. 

"O-o-o!"  cried  Sally.  "Brighton!  The  sea!  Will 
you  take  me  out  in  a  boat  ?  Better  not :  I  should  be  sick. 
Take  me  on  the  river  this  afternoon,  instead.  No :  we'll 
just  walk  in  Richmond  Park.  Ever  been  to  Kew,  Toby  ? 
The  girls  say  it's  lovely  there.  What's  Brighton  like? 
I  went  there  once  when  I  was  a  kid.  Wasn't  half  fine. 
W^hat  d'you  do  there  ?  Sit  on  the  beach  and  throw  stones 
in  the  water?  We  might  paddle.  Like  to  see  me  pad- 
dling?   What  time  do  we  start?" 

"Here,  hold  on,"  said  Toby.  They  were  walking  to 
catch  a  Richmond  omnibus.  "You  ask  a  lot  of  questions 
and  don't  wait  for  no  answers.  I  say  .  .  .  look  at  that 
young  woman  there.  .  .  .     Look  at  her!" 

"Well?"  demanded  Sally.  "It's  only  because  her  shoes 
don't  fit.  She  doesn't  know  how  to  wear  high  heels. 
That's  all  it  is.     That  frock  cost  a  bit." 

"Did  it?"  Toby  jerked  his  head.  "Well,  you  ought 
to  know,  I  suppose.    It's  not  as  smart  as  yours." 

"D'you  like  it,  Toby?"  asked  Sally,  eagerly.  He  had 
never  said  anything  before  about  her  clothes.  She  was 
suddenly  sportive  with  pride  in  his  interest. 


148  COQUETTE 

Toby  nodded.  He  had  been  betrayed  into  his  speech 
of  approval.    It  was  not  natural  to  him. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  nonchalantly  said.  "I've  seen 
worse." 

Sally  shook  his  arm,  provoked  by  a  variety  of  feelings. 
She  loved  him  to  tease  her.  How  strange!  She  felt  a 
hundred  years  older  than  Toby,  and  yet  she  felt  like  a 
little  girl.  And  when  she  was  with  him  she  did  not  have 
to  mind  her  tongue,  but  could  be  as  slangy  and  as  natural 
as  she  pleased.  Toby  did  not  know  any  better.  She  had 
not  always  to  be  thinking,  with  him,  of  what  a  real  lady 
might  be  expected  to  say.    He  was  a  relaxation  for  her. 

"That's  right,"  she  said.  "Flatter  me.  Make  me  get 
swelled  head.  Don't  think  of  the  consequences.  Ladle 
it  out.    Tell  me  I  look  a  little  princess." 

"No,  Sally.  I  wouldn't  do  that,"  answered  Toby,  pos- 
sessively. "I  don't  want  you  to  get  above  yourself. 
You're  a  bit  uppish  as  it  is.  Noticed  it?  Well,  I  have. 
And  that's  a  thing  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about." 

"Oh,"  said  Sally  in  a  dangerous  tone,  "What  is? 
Look,  there's  a  bus!" 

With  Sally's  nimbleness  and  Toby's  muscle  they  ob- 
tained seats  upon  the  top  of  the  bus,  and,  seated  together, 
resumed  their  conversation  in  low,  grumbling  tones.  She 
first  repeated  her  question  with  new  aggressiveness,  not 
at  all  deterred  from  the  possibility  of  a  row  by  her  delight 
in  Toby's  company. 

"About  you,"  said  Toby.  "You  see,  smartness  is  all 
very  well ;  but  if  you're  going  to  be  a  sailor's  wife  you  got 
to  look  where  you're  going.  Now,  your  last  letter.  It 
said  you  was  being  a  good  girl,,  and  taking  evening 
classes — that's  because  I  told  you  my  aunt  see  you  out 
with  a  fellow  one  night,  coming  from  the  schools.  Now 
what  the  Hell's  the  good  of  evening  classes  to  a  sailor's 
wife;  and  who  is  this  fellow  aunt  seen  you  with?" 


GAGA  149 

"I  suppose  even  a  sailor's  wife  wants  to  know  how  to 
cook,"  remarked  Sally, 

"Oh,  cooking,"  grimly  said  Toby.  "Does  the  fellow 
learn  cooking,  too?" 

Sally  was  impudent.  She  was  enjoying  herself.  She 
was  rejoiced  that  he  should  be  so  jealous  and  authori- 
tative when  she  knew  that  she  could  always  play  with 
him. 

"I  don't  know  which  fellow  your  aunt  saw,"  she  an- 
swered flippantly.  "There's  so  many  of  them  at  the 
classes.  I  can't  tell  which  it  might  be.  Did  she  tell  you 
what  he  was  like?" 

"She  told  me  you  was  arm  in  arm." 

"That's  a  lie,"  said  Sally,  curtly.  "Nosey  old  cat.  She 
never  saw  me  arm  in  arm  with  anybody.  And  even  if 
I  had  been,  what  business  is  it  of  hers?  What  does  she 
know  about  me  ?    About  me  and  you  ?" 

"She  see  us  last  time  I  was  home.  See  us  twice. 
That's  why  she  told  me  about  you  and  this  other  fellow. 
See?  She  says — ^that  girl  I  see  you  with  seems  to  have 
got  another  young  man — light  come,  light  go." 

"O-o-oh!"  Sally  gritted  her  teeth.  "I  would  like 
to  have  your  aunt  by  the  back  hair,  Toby!  Old  cat! 
She's  made  it  up,  I  expect.  Interfering  old  beast !  But, 
after  all,  there's  a  lot  of  fellows  at  the  class,  and  we  all 
come  out  together,  and  sometimes  they  walk  a  bit  of  the 
way  home  with  me.  That's  all  it  is.  Nothing  to  make 
a  fuss  about.  I'm  not  a  nun,  got  to  pass  men  by  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road,  am  I  ?" 

"Well,  I  won't  have  it!"  cried  Toby,  restless  in  his 
seat.  His  dark  face  was  darker.  There  was  a  red  under 
his  tan,  and  a  gleam  of  his  teeth  that  made  him  like  an 
angry  dog.  "And  that's  enough  of  it.  I  won't  have  it. 
You  belong  to  me.  See?  And  if  I  catch  another  fellow 
nosing  round  I'll  split  his  head  open.     Damned  sauce  1 


150  COQUETTE 

Just  because  I'm  away,  you  think  you  can  go  marching 
about.  .  .  ." 

He  sulked  for  several  minutes,  frowning,  and  biting  a 
torn  thumbnail. 

"What  you  done  to  your  thumb?"  demanded  Sally, 
taking  it  quickly  between  her  own  fingers.  Toby  made 
no  answer,  but,  very  flushed,  drew  his  thumb  away.  With 
her  chin  a  little  out,  and  an  air  of  quietly  hiunming  to 
herself,  Sally  looked  at  all  the  shops  and  houses  upon 
their  route,  and  at  the  people  walking  sedately  upon  the 
pavements.  As  it  was  Saturday  afternoon,  many  of  the 
West  End  stores  were  shuttered;  but  as  the  bus  went 
farther  west,  and  into  suburban  areas,  there  was  great 
marketing  activity.  Sally  watched  all  the  people  and 
observed  all  the  shops  with  an  absorbed  childish  interest 
that  was  almost  passionate  in  its  intensity.  She  took 
no  notice  of  Toby  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  He  might 
not  have  been  there.  This  was  his  punishment  for  being 
outspoken  and  suspicious.  She  was  not  going  to  have 
that  sort  of  thing  from  anybody.  But  if  Sally  was  super- 
cilious, Toby  was  stubborn.  Once  his  grievance  had  been 
voiced,  and  had  been  taken  flippantly,  he  was  reduced 
to  glowering.  At  Sally's  continued  disregard,  and  after  a 
going  over  in  his  own  mind  of  all  they  had  said,  Toby 
began  to  feel  uncomfortable.  He  began  to  feel  a 
fool.  At  the  precise  moment  when  his  sensation  of  fool- 
ishness was  strongest  upon  him,  Sally  turned  and  slipped 
her  arm  within  his,  and  pressed  his  elbow  warmly  against 
her  side.  They  did  not  speak;  but  peace  was  made. 
Presently  Sally  began  to  draw  Toby's  attention  to  things 
they  passed,  and  although  at  first  he  was  surly  in  his  re- 
sponses, Toby  was  gradually  and  surely  appeased  by  her 
masterly  handling  of  him.  He  was  not  free  from  sus- 
picion— she  did  not  want  him  to  be,  because  it  enhanced 
her  value;  but  he  was  dominated  by  her  cajolery. 


GAGA  151 

When  they  arrived  in  Richmond,  and  had  climbed  the 
hill,  and  had  looked  down  from  the  Terrace  Gardens 
upon  that  lovely  piece  of  the  Thames  which  is  to  be  seen 
from  the  height,  Sally  and  Toby  walked  arm  in  arm 
about  the  Deer  Park.  They  saw  the  leaves  falling,  quite 
yellow,  although  the  trees  were  still  dense  with  foliage; 
and  the  crisp  air  exhilarated  them.  In  the  sun  it  was 
hot  and  dazzlingly  bright. 

"Tell  me  about  what  you've  seen,  Toby,"  suddenly 
asked  Sally. 

"Seen  ?"  Toby  fumbled  a  minute  in  his  mind.  "What 
d'you  mean — seen?" 

"At  sea,  and  when  you  go  ashore.  You  know.  Ships 
and  places." 

Toby  looked  puzzled.  "Well,  what's  there  to  tell?"  he 
questioned.  "A  ship's  a  ship.  You  wouldn't  understand 
if  I  was  to  tell  you  I'd  seen  a  schooner,  or  a  barque,  or 
a  cattle-boat,  or  a  dinghy."  He  was  rather  lofty.  "I 
mean,  you  wouldn't  know." 

"How  do  you  know,  then  ?  How  can  you  tell  the  differ- 
ence?" she  persisted. 

Toby  laughed  at  the  fact  that  she  had  not  recognised 
how  he  had  slipped  in  the  dinghy  among  recognisable 
ships.  He  had  supposed  everybody  knew  what  a  dinghy 
was.  He  pointed  that  fact  out  to  Sally,  who  could  not 
see  that  she  had  betrayed  such  glaring  foolishness. 
Pressed  to  confine  himself  to  comparable  vessels,  Toby 
condescendingly  resumed : 

"It's  a  question  of  the  size,  and  the  rig  .  .  .  All  that." 
He  was  elaborately  the  expert,  sure  that  an  amateur  could 
never  understand.  Sally  might  have  retorted  with  baf- 
fling words  about  seams  and  camisoles  and  voile ;  but  she 
was  shrewd  in  mystic  silence.  "You'd  have  to  see  the 
ships  .  .  .  Then  I  could  point  it  all  out  to  you.  I  mean, 
a  gunboat  or  a  cruiser  or  a  trawler  .  .  .  What  I  mean, 


152  COQUETTE 

they're  different.  See  a  big  liner  going  out  from  Liver- 
pool: I  tell  you,  it's  a  sight.  Flocks  of  people,  and  the 
old  thing  moving  along  like  grease.  Leaves  you  standing. 
At  first  you  don't  half  feel  a  fool.  But  on  a  boat  like 
ours  there's  no  time  to  look  about.  We're  under-manned. 
That's  what  it  is.  Not  enough  of  us  to  make  it  light  for 
everybody.  Ought  to  be  altered.  Got  to  be  doing  chores 
the  whole  time.     Swabbing  down,  cooking " 

"Can  you  cook?"     Sally  was  swift,  arch,  incredulous, 

Toby  grinned.  Then  he  remembered  her  classes — her 
"cooking"  classes — and  his  aunt's  message,  and  grew  sud- 
denly serious. 

"Look  here,  Sally.  That  cooking.  I  don't  like  them 
other  fellows,"  he  said.  'T  mean  to  say,  meeting  them 
at  classes,  and  walking  home,  and  that." 

Sally  held  his  arm  tightly.  A  look  of  scorn  appeared 
upon  her  face.  In  her  heart  a  feeling  arose  of  impatience 
and  amused  enjoyment  of  his  concern  about  a  thing  that 
was  to  her  so  trivial  compared  with  her  love  for  himself. 

"You  going  to  begin  that  again?"  she  demanded. 
"Silly.  Here,  put  your  face  down.  There !  D'you  think 
I  don't  love  you.  Think  I  don't  believe  you're  worth  ten 
of  those  others?    Well,  I  do.    And  that's  enough  of  that." 

Toby  was  obstinate.  He  wanted  her  to  be  his  property. 
Nevertheless,  his  tone  was  milder. 

"It's  not  right,  Sally,  you  going  about  with  other  fel- 
lows. What  I  mean,  you  think  it's  all  right,  but  what  do 
they  think?" 

'T  don't  care  what  they  think.  I  don't  care  what  any- 
body thinks,  except  you.  And  if  vou  don't  trust  me, 
well  ..." 

Toby  was  manifestly  terrified  at  the  removal  of  her 
arm  from  his.  He  caught  it  again,  but  she  wrenched 
free.  For  a  few  moments  they  walked  along  together  in 
dead  silence,  gloomy  and  disunited.     Toby  clenched  his 


GAGA  153 

fists.  He  looked  about  him,  and  uneasily  rocked  his  head 
and  cleared  his  throat.  Sally  knew  that  he  was  reassuring 
himself  by  saying  internally  that  if  that  was  the  tone 
she  was  going  to  take  .  .  . 

"You  see  .  .  ."he  began. 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  cried  Sally,  savagely.  "I've  had 
enough  of  it."  A  moment  later  he  heard  a  little  sob  from 
her,  and  moved  close,  overcome  with  his  consternation. 
At  his  touch  she  started  away.  Here  it  was  that  Toby's 
physical  strength  served.  He  was  easily  able  to  put  his 
arms  round  her,  and  hold  her  closely.  A  voice  from  the 
faintly  struggling  Sally  wailed :  "You  don't  trust  me  .  .  . 
You'd  better  get  some  other  girl  ..." 

"I  do!  I  do!"  Toby  swore.  "Damn  it  all,  Sally.  I 
mean  to  say  ..." 

"Bring  me  out  .  .  .  make  me  miserable  .  .  ."  came 
the  strangled  little  voice. 

Toby  was  conquered.  Sally  knew  that  she  had  him  at 
her  mercy.  She  had  known  it  all  along.  She  had  been 
enjoying  herself,  enjoying  this  second  quarrel  as  much 
as  the  first  one,  because  she  knew  exactly  what  the  out- 
come would  be.  A  quarrel  is  always  worth  while  to  a 
loving  girl,  for  the  sake  of  the  reconciliation.  They  were 
the  sweetest  moments  of  the  day,  because  in  them  was 
begun  the  true  softening  of  hearts  and  rousing  of  the 
emotions  which  later  gave  them  so  much  delight.  Toby 
and  Sally  were  happy  all  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  and 
evening,  and  loved  one  another;  and  when  it  was  dark, 
and  none  could  observe  them,  Toby  kissed  Sally  with  all 
the  fervour  that  he  had  saved  up  in  his  long  days  away 
from  her.  He  kissed  her  lips  and  her  cheeks  and  her 
eyes,  and  crushed  the  life  out  of  her  with  his  powerful 
arms.  And  Sally,  at  first  laughing,  had  grown  quieter 
and  quieter  in  his  arms  as  her  joy  in  his  love  had  deepened. 
They  stood  there,  far  above  the  river,  in  the  gloaming. 


164i  COQUETTE 

with  the  leaves  whispering  and  slowly  floating  down 
through  the  air  as  they  fell  from  above.  Presently  the 
moon  rose,  and  in  the  moonlight  the  two  wandered  to- 
gether, and  forgot  all  their  plans  and  ambitions  and 
jealousies.  Both  were  given  over  entirely  to  the  moment, 
and  to  the  passion  of  the  moment,  which  was  still  as 
strong  as  it  had  ever  been. 


xni 

A  fortnight  passed.  Gaga  came  and  went.  Sally  had 
no  word  with  him,  because  he  could  not  speak  to  her  in 
the  workroom  or  in  his  mother's  room,  and  because  she 
never  met  him  (as  she  half  expected  to  do)  in  the  street. 
Sally  often  thought  of  their  evening  together,  but  grad- 
ually, as  Gaga  took  no  further  step,  she  became  sceptical 
about  his  plan,  and  she  hardened  towards  him.  Already 
her  active  mind  was  casting  about  for  new  outlets.  She 
visited  Mrs.  Perce,  and  repaid  ten  shillings  of  the  amount 
she  owed  her.  She  wrote  to  Toby,  walked  with  Harry 
Simmons,  had  conversations  with  Miss  Summers  and 
Muriel  and  Mrs,  Minto.  And  so  the  days  passed.  But 
at  length  Gaga  took  the  awaited  step.  He  met  her  one 
evening,  as  if  by  accident,  upon  the  stairs,  and  immediate- 
ly stopped.  She  had  gone  past  him  when  Gaga  found 
his  tongue,  and  checked  Sally's  progress  by  a  stammer- 
ing.    She  waited. 

"Er  ...  I  never  .  .  .  see  you  now,"  he  began.  Sally 
looked  up  at  his  tall  figure,  thrown  sharply  into  relief  by 
the  clear  light  from  a  window  upon  the  stairs,  and  by 
the  pale  grey  distemper  of  the  wall  behind  him.  Again 
she  noticed  that  creeping  redness  under  the  grey  of  his 
cheeks,  and  the  almost  liquid  appeal  which  he  directed  at 
her.  "I  ...  er  ...  I  meant  to  ask  you  .  .  .  Tomor- 
row .  .  ." 


GAGA  155 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Bertram!  I'd  love  to,"  cried 
Sally,  quickly.  He  was  passionately  relieved,  as  she  could 
see.  Not  only  by  her  acceptance  of  his  intended  sug- 
gestion, but  at  the  salvation  of  his  tongue. 

"At  the  comer?  Seven  o'clock?  At  the  corner? 
Where  .  .  .  where  .  .  .  where  we  met  before?  Really? 
Fine!"  He  nodded,  and  took  off  his  hat,  and  climbed 
the  stair.  Sally,  very  sedate,  descended.  Well,  she  was 
still  all  right,  then.  How  strange,  she  was  quite  cool! 
She  was  not  at  all  elated !  That  was  because  of  the  delay, 
which  had  encouraged  indifference;  but  it  was  also  be- 
cause the  invitation  was  expected  and  because  Sally  was 
no  longer  to  be  shaken  as  she  would  have  been  by  a 
novelty.  She  was  ready.  She  was  once  again  a  general 
surveying  the  certainties  of  combat  with  a  foe  inferior 
in  resources  to  herself. 

So  the  next  evening  she  deliberately  stayed  later  than 
the  other  girls,  and  worked  on  with  a  garment  which  had 
occupied  her  attention  all  the  afternoon.  She  was  doing 
some  plain  embroidery  upon  a  silk  frock.  It  was  upon 
this  occasion  that  she  received  a  great  mark  of  favour 
from  Miss  Summers.  Miss  Summers,  trusting  Sally  en- 
tirely, showed  her  how  to  lock  the  door  after  her.  She 
had  just  to  slip  the  catch,  and  slam  the  door,  and  nobody 
could  enter  the  room  without  first  using  a  key.  And  Miss 
Summers  went,  leaving  Sally  alone  in  the  workroom.  It 
was  a  thing  hitherto  unknown.  It  showed  trust  which 
had  never  been  given  to  one  of  the  other  girls.  Apart 
from  Madam  and  Gaga,  if  one  or  both  of  them  should 
still  be  working  in  Madam's  room,  Sally  was  at  liberty, 
and  in  sole  occupation  of  the  establishment.  It  did  not 
occur  to  Sally  to  think  so;  but  Miss  Summers  would 
never  have  given  her  this  privilege  if  she  had  not  known 
that  Madam  also  would  approve.  It  would  have  been 
too  dangerous  a  responsibility  for  Miss  Summers  un- 


156  COQUETTE 

supported.  Madam  must  have  seen  that  petty  theft  was 
a  thing  which  did  not  tempt  Sally.  She  was  too  am- 
bitious for  that,  and  obviously  so.  Keen  judge  of  char- 
acter as  Madam  was  she  must  have  known  it  all.  But 
neither  Madam  nor  Miss  Summers  could  have  reahsed — 
as  both,  with  their  experience  of  girls,  should  have  done — ■ 
that  there  were  possibilities  other  than  theft.  Sally  had 
hstened  to  the  explanation  of  the  door  catch,  and  had 
promised  to  shake  the  door  when  she  left,  so  as  to  make 
sure  that  it  was  fast ;  but  her  only  conscious  thought  had 
been  one  of  surprise  and  delight  that  she  should  be  left 
alone.  Alone  to  do  as  she  pleased.  Alone  to  sing,  dance, 
loiter.  Alone,  perhaps,  with  Gaga.  At  that  notion  she 
had  a  curious  little  thrill  of  excitement.  Her  eyes  be- 
came fixed  for  a  moment.  She  did  not  speak,  or  give 
any  other  sign.  She  was  not  thinking.  Merely,  her 
general  awareness  was  pierced  by  a  sudden  ray. 

Had  she  been  sure  that  Gaga  was  by  himself  in  the. 
next  room,  Sally  would  have  found  some  excuse  to  go 
in  there.  It  would  have  been  such  an  opportunity  as  she 
had  never  had  before.  But  although  she  went  close  to 
the  door,  and  listened  eagerly,  there  was  no  sound  within. 
The  room  might  have  been  empty.  Or  Madam  might 
be  there;  and  if  Sally  sang,  which  would  please  Gaga, 
Madam  might  come  out,  find  her  in  the  workroom  with- 
out real  excuse,  and  give  her  the  sack.  Sally  was  too 
wise  to  believe  that  in  such  a  case  Gaga  could  save  her. 
She  could  imagine  him  stammering  a  defence,  and  being 
crushed,  and  perhaps  being  kind  to  her  for  a  little  while 
and  fussing  about  to  find  her  a  job  elsewhere.  And 
that  would  be  the  end  of  that.  She  neither  sang  nor 
whistled.  Every  now  and  then  she  again  listened,  until 
she  was  impatient  with  uncertainty.  Her  impatience 
made  her  laugh.  Fancy  being  impatient  for  seven  o'clock ! 


GAGA  16T 

And  for  Gaga!  It  wasn't  natural.  It  was — ^like  Gaga 
himself — ridiculous. 

Seven  o'clock  struck  before  she  was  ready;  but  Sally- 
did  not  care.  She  had  no  objection  to  the  thought  of 
Gaga  waiting  in  patience  at  the  comer  of  the  street. 
Toby  would  have  been  a  slightly  different  matter.  Not 
that  she  was  more  afraid  of  Toby  now  than  she  was  of 
Gaga.  All  the  same,  she  would  not  have  kept  him  waiting. 
Neither  Toby  nor  Gaga  would  have  kept  Sally  waiting. 
Toby  would  have  been  punctual;  Gaga  had  been  stand- 
ing at  the  corner  already  for  five  minutes.  It  was  a 
curious  moral  effect  that  Sally  had.  She  was  not  to  be 
treated  lightly.  Even  now,  she  was  learning  her  power, 
and  in  this  case  she  was  illustrating  it.  She  did  not 
join  Gaga  until  she  was  satisfied  that  every  smallest  fold 
in  her  dress  was  in  perfect  order,  her  hat  precisely  at 
the  desired  angle,  her  gloves  buttoned.  Then,  shutting 
the  door  with  a  steady  bang  which  rendered  any  shak- 
ing needless,  she  kept  her  appointment,  not  a  timid  dress- 
maker's assistant,  but  a  woman  of  the  world.  At  seven- 
teen— for  she  had  not  yet  reached  her  eighteenth  birthday, 
although  it  was  now  very  near — she  was  more  of  a 
woman  of  the  world  than  she  would  be  at  twenty-eight, 
when  her  first  intuitions  had  been  blunted  by  actual  ex- 
perience. 

Gaga  was  standing  thoughtfully  leaning  upon  his  walk- 
ing stick.  His  shoulders  were  bent,  and  the  slim,  and 
rather  graceful,  outline  of  his  figure  made  him  appear 
almost  pathetic  in  his  loneliness.  Sally — Sally  the  hard 
and  ambitious — was  struck  by  a  sharp  irritation  and 
pity,  almost  by  compimction.  She  did  not  know  what 
her  feeling  for  Gaga  was;  but  principally  it  was  com- 
posed of  contempt.  He  had  good  looks,  and  he  had 
money.  He  could  help  her  at  present  as  nobody  else 
could  do.     But  at  heart  Sally  dismissed  him  with  a 


158  COQUETTE 

word  which,  to  her,  was  fatal.  He  was  soppy.  Not 
mad,  not  altogether  stupid,  but  painfully  lacking  in  vital 
energy  and  confidence.  Of  all  things  Sally  best  loved 
assurance,  and  Gaga  had  none  of  it.  He  drooped  in 
waiting,  and  the  message  of  his  fine  clothes  was  con- 
tradicted by  his  pose,  and  not  reinforced  by  it. 

"I'm  sorry  I'm  late,"  she  said  perfunctorily,  at  his 
start  of  recognition  and  delight.  Gaga's  face  changed 
completely.  From  one  of  gloom,  his  expression  became 
•one  of  joy,  "I  didn't  notice  the  time.  I  was  working 
there  alone — Miss  Summers  had  gone.  I  was  finishing 
something.  I  didn't  know  if  you'd  gone  or  not.  I 
couldn't  hear  anything  from  Madam's  room.  Didn't  like 
to  knock,  or  anything." 

Gaga  said  nothing.  He  walked  by  her  side,  and  Sally 
looked  up  at  him  almost  as  she  might  have  done  at  a 
policeman  or  a  lamp-post.  He  ufas  tall,  she  thought, 
when  he  straightened  his  back.  And  he  dressed  like  a 
•prince.  At  that  instant  she  was  proud  to  be  walking  by 
his  side.  She  thought:  "I  must  look  a  shrimp  beside 
liim !  Him  so  big — so  tall,  and  me  so  little.  But  I'm  as 
-smart  as  he  is,  any  day  in  the  week.  Wish  he  always 
held  himself  up  like  that!  What  salmony  lips  he's  got, 
and  .  .  .  it's  his  long  lashes  that  make  his  eyes  look  so 
soft.  Chocolate  eyes  .  .  .  Funny!  He's  got  a  weak 
chin.  No,  his  chin's  all  right  It's  .  .  .  you  can't  see  his 
jaw  at  all:  goes  right  in,  and  gets  lost.  And  a  funny 
nose — got  no  shape  to  it.  Just  a  nose."  She  had  the 
curiosity  to  wonder  what  his  grey  cheek  felt  like.  She 
would  like,  one  day,  to  touch  it  with  her  finger,  just 
to  see.  It  looked  dry  and  soft.  All  this  she  glimpsed 
and  considered  like  lightning  while  they  walked  quickly 
towards  Piccadilly  Circus;  and  her  notions  gathered  and 
jgrew  in  Gaga's  silence. 


GAGA  159 

"Were  you  working?"  Sally  presently  asked,  trying  to 
say  something  to  begin  a  conversation. 

Gaga  shook  his  head,  stealing  a  shy  glance  down  at  her. 

"No.  Not  working,"  he  said.  "I  had  rather  a  head- 
ache, so  I  went  for  a  walk  in  the  Park." 

"Oo.  Sorry  you've  got  a  headache."  Sally  uncon- 
sciously became  sympathetic.  "Is  it  very  bad?  It's 
nerves,  I  expect.  If  you're  nervous  you  have  splitting 
headaches.  My  mother's  always  talking  about  her  head. 
She  gets  so  tired,  you  know;  and  it  goes  to  her  head;, 
and  she  sits  still  and  can't  think  about  anything  else. 
Is  ...  is  Madam  quite  well  now?  She  was  looking  so 
ill  .  .  ." 

Gaga  became  mournful.  The  mention  of  his  mother 
always,  it  seemed  to  Sally,  made  him  miserable.  Silly 
Gaga  1  He  then  did  something  which  had  an  impercepti- 
ble effect  upon  Sally's  thought  of  him.  It  was  a  mistake, 
because  it  illustrated  his  lack  of  initiative  and  his  power- 
lessness  to  strike  out  a  fresh  path.  He  made  straight 
for  the  Rezzonico  again.  He  ought  to  have  taken  Sally 
to  another  restaurant ;  but  he  instinctively  took  her  to  the 
place  where  they  had  dined  happily  before.  In  that  he 
betrayed  to  her  merciless  judgment  the  fact  of  his  inex- 
perience. Silently,  they  entered  the  big  dining-room.  The 
band  was  not  playing  at  the  moment,  and,  as  they  were 
early,  the  room  was  less  full  than  it  had  been  upon  the 
first  occasion.  The  enormous  mirrors  reflected  their  hesi- 
tating movements.  Gaga  made  his  way  vaguely  towards 
their  former  table;  but  Sally  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm- 
It  was  time  for  her  to  take  command.  Into  her  expres- 
sion there  crept  the  faintest  hardness,  almost  a  tough  as- 
surance, that  was  tinged  with  the  contempt  which  was  her 
deepest  feeling  for  Gaga. 

"Couldn't  we  get  a  table  against  the  wall  .  .  .  down 
there?"  she  demanded,  pointing. 


160  COQUETTE 

It  was  done.  They  were  installed,  and  a  young  and 
rapid  waiter  was  attending  to  them.  This  time  Sally 
helped  to  choose  the  dinner.  She  could  not  read  the 
menu,  because  she  knew  no  French;  but  the  waiter,  with 
an  uncanny  insight,  realised  that  he  would  do  well  to 
address  her  and  to  explain  the  dishes  to  Sally  instead 
of  to  Gaga;  and  so,  to  the  relief  of  all  three,  they  were 
quickly  served,  and  wine  was  brought,  and  Sally  began 
to  feel  creeping  upon  her  all  the  old  pleasure  and  ex- 
citement of  noise  and  wine  and  an  intriguing  situation. 
Her  hardness  vanished.  She  sat  almost  with  complacency, 
breaking  her  roll  with  two  small  hands,  and  looking  at 
Gaga  with  that  thin  little  grin  which  caused  her  meagre 
face  to  be  so  impish  and  attractive.  The  brilliant  lights 
which  made  Sally  more  and  more  piquante  had  a  ghastly 
effect  upon  Gaga.  His  grey  cheeks  were  cruelly  be- 
trayed. 

"I'm  afraid  mother's  .  .  .  mother's  not  what  she 
ought  .  .  .  I'm  afraid  mother's  ill,"  began  Gaga,  stam- 
mering. Then,  impulsively :  "I  say  .  .  .  I'm  so  glad  you 
came  tonight.  I  .  .  .  I've  been — you  know,  my  head — 
I've  been  miserable,  and  .  .  .  I've  been  bad-tempered  all 
day.  But  I'm  better  now.  Couldn't  help  .  .  .  feeling 
better,  seeing  you  there  ..." 

Sally  grinned  again.  If  her  cheeks  had  been  plumper 
he  could  have  seen  two  dimples ;  but  all  that  was  observ- 
able was  the  row  of  tiny  pointed  teeth  that  made  her  smile 
so  mischievous,  Sally's  eyes  looked  green  in  the  electric 
light — green  and  dark  and  dangerous,  like  deep  sea;  and 
her  pallor  was  enhanced,  so  that  she  was  almost  beautiful. 
There  was  something  both  naive  and  cat-like  in  her  man- 
ner, and  the  tilt  of  her  head.  She  surveyed  Gaga  with 
eyes  that  were  instinctively  half-closed.  She  could  de- 
lightedly perceive  the  effect  she  was  having  upon  him. 
He  sometimes  could  not  look  at  her  at  all,  but  fixed  his  at- 


GAGA  161 

tention  upon  his  plate  while  she  was  speaking,  or  no 
higher  than  her  neck  when  he  was  himself — as  he  rarely 
did — ^making  an  attempt  to  entertain.  And  all  Gaga's 
hesitations  and  shynesses  made  Sally  amused  and  sure 
of  herself,  and  she  began  to  take  pleasure  in  dominating 
him.  When  she  found  that  Gaga  not  only  did  not  resent 
this,  but  was  pleased  and  thrilled  by  her  domination, 
Sally  grew  triumphant.  She  chose  the  sweet  for  them 
both,  sweeping  her  eye  down  the  prices  and  listening  to 
the  waiter's  translation  of  each  title.  She  sipped  her 
wine  with  a  royal  air  of  connoisseurship.  And  she  kept 
such  control  of  the  situation  that  Gaga  was  afraid  to 
give  words  to  the  timid  ardour  which  shone  from  his  ex- 
pressive glance.  Sally  was  herself:  it  was  still  she  who 
conferred  every  favour,  and  not  Gaga. 

Presently  she  had  a  thought  that  whipped  across  her 
mind  like  a  sting. 

"D'you  know  what  I've  been  doing  since  we  came  here 
before?"  she  demanded.  "I've  been  taking  lessons  in 
book-keeping.  I'm  getting  on  fine.  The  teacher  says 
I've  got  a  proper  head  for  figures.  He  says  I  shall  be  a 
cashier  in  no  time,  and  understand  all  that  you  can  know 
about  accounts.  Isn't  that  good?  So  I  shall  be  able  to 
help  you — like  you  said  .  .  ." 

Gaga  gave  an  admiring  gesture.    He  was  overwhelmed. 

"Oh,  but  you're  .  .  .  marvellous !"  he  cried.  "Simply 
marvellous!  Here's  Miss  Summers  says  you're  the  best 
hand,  for  your  age,  that  she's  got  ..." 

"Did  she  say  that  ?"  Sally  jumped  for  joy.  "Really  ?'* 
She  gave  a  triumphant  laugh,  so  naive  and  full  of  in- 
genuous conceitedness  that  Gaga  was  overcome  afresh 
with  admiration. 

"You  ought  to  have  been  two  people,"  he  answered. 
"Two  little  girls." 

"Half  a  dozen!"  Sally  proclaimed.    "You  see,  I'm — it 


162  COQUETTE 

sounds  conceited,  and  I  expect  I  am;  but  it's  true — ^I'm 
clever.  I'm  not  soppy.  Other  girls — Rose  Anstey  .  .  . 
They're  soppy.  They  can't  do  anything.  I  can  do  all 
sorts  of  things  because  I'm  clever — I  can  sew,  and  .  .  . 
you  know,  all  sorts  of  things." 

Gaga  glowed  at  her  words. 

"I  know,"  he  eagerly  agreed.  "That's  why  you're  so 
wonderful.  Most  girls  can  only  do  one  thing.  They 
can't  even  do  that  very  well." 

"That's  true.  Takes  them  a  week  to  do  it;  and  then 
somebody  has  to  do  it  over  again  for  them.  They  haven't 
got  any  brains.  They  got  no  sense.  They  don't  think.'* 
Sally  was  impetuous. 

"They've  got  no  brains  at  all,"  said  Gaga.  "They're 
like  vegetables."  Both  laughed,  in  great  spirits  and 
familiarity.  "Well,  Sally  ...  My  mother's  .  .  .  She's 
a  wonderful  woman,  too.  She's  been  marvellous.  Mar- 
vellous !    She  must  have  been  like  you  .  .  ." 

Sally  shrugged. 

"Bigger  than  me,"  she  murmured,  brooding  upon  an 
tmwelcome  comparison. 

"No.  Not  bigger.  She's  nearly  three  times  as  old 
as  you.  My  father  died,  you  see  ...  I  was  a  child. 
She  had  to  make  a  living.    Had  to." 

"So  have  I  got  to,"  whispered  Sally.  "I  got  no  father; 
and  mother's  in  her  second  childhood." 

Gaga  stopped.  He  looked  at  her.  A  singular  expres- 
sion crossed  his  face. 

"Now,  you  have  to,"  he  said.  "Er,  I  mean  .  .  .  Well, 
.  .  .  you  won't  always." 

"Mean,  I'll  marry?"  demanded  Sally,  sharply.  "Give 
it  all  up  to  cook  the  dinner  and  wash  the  front  step?"  She 
shrugged  again. 

Gaga  reddened  slightly. 

"I  ...  I  didn't  think  you'd  do  that,"  he  said,  hesi- 


GAGA  163 

tatingly.  "I  only  meant  .  .  .  What  I  wanted  to  say  .  .  . 
mother's  not  well.  She's  ill.  She's  really  ill.  She'll  have 
to  take  a  holiday.  I  wonder  .  .  ."  His  hesitation  was 
more  prolonged  than  usual.  He  became  as  it  were  lost 
in  a  kind  of  doubtful  reverie.  Sally  could  not  tell  whether 
he  was  thinking  or  whether  the  wheels  of  his  mind  had 
altogether  ceased  to  revolve.  His  mouth  gaped  a  little. 
At  last  he  concluded :  "I  wonder  if  I  could  ...  if  I  could 
borrow  you  from  Miss  Summers.  If  she'd  mind.  If 
she'd  let  you  go." 

There  was  a  silence,  while  both  thought  of  this  possi- 
bility. 

"Look  here,"  cried  Sally,  confidently.  "Like  this  eve- 
ning, Miss  Simimers  left  me  there — all  alone.  I  mean 
to  say,  she  didn't  mind.  She  wouldn't  leave  any  of  the 
other  girls  like  that;  but  she  left  me.  She  knew  it  was 
all  right.  Well,  I  wouldn't  mind  stopping  in  the  eve- 
mings  and  helping  you.  I'd  like  to.  I'm  quick.  I  could 
get  through  a  lot  of  work." 

"Oh,  but  it  wouldn't  be  fair,"  he  objected. 

"Why  not?     I'd  love  it.     See,  I'd  get  overtime." 

Sally  was  really  prompting  Gaga  in  this  last  sentence. 
He  frowned,  and  moved  one  of  his  long  hands  impatient- 
ly across  some  crumbs  which  lay  before  him  on  the 
table. 

"Oh,  money  .  .  ."  he  said.  "More  than  overtime. 
We'd  ...  I  say,  it's  splendid  of  you.  It's  a  splendid 
way  to  do  it." 

"Would  you  like  it?"  breathed  Sally,  her  heart  beat- 
ing faster  at  the  implication.  Gaga  reddened.  His  lips 
were  pressed  together. 

"It  would  be  perfect !"  he  cried,  vigorously. 

"How  lovely!"  Sally's  face  broke  once  more  into  that 
expressive  grin.  They  sat  smiling  at  each  other,  almost 
as  lovers  do  who  have  stumbled  upon  an  unsuspected 


164  COQUETTE 

agreement  in  taste.  The  mood  lasted  perhaps  a  minute. 
Then  it  changed  ever  so  slightly.  "Would  Madam 
mind?"  next  urged  Sally. 

Gaga's  face  clouded.  She  was  watching  him  breath- 
lessly, and  saw  his  fists  clenched.  His  tongue  moistened 
the  lips  so  lately  compressed.  His  head  was  inclined. 
At  last,  dubiously,  he  spoke. 

"I  wonder,"  he  muttered.  "I  haven't  said  anything  to 
her.  I  don't  think  .  .  ."  His  face  fell  still  more,  until 
it  was  undetermined.  "I'm  afraid  .  .  .  I'm  afraid  .  .  . 
perhaps  she  mightn't  like  it.  You  see,  she's  .  .  .  she's 
.  .  .  rather  .  .  .  She  doesn't  like  anybody  .  .  .  She 
mightn't  quite  .  .  .  understand." 

Sally's  contentment  vanished  abruptly.  Her  heart  be- 
came fierce,  and  her  tone  followed.  It  was  rough  and 
hard,  with  a  suggestion  of  despair  and  of  something  less 
than  respect  for  Gaga. 

"It's  no  good !"  she  cried.  "It's  no  good.  I'm  a  girl. 
Girls  can  never  do  anything!  A  man  can  do  all  sorts  of 
things ;  but,  just  because  she  is  a  girl,  a  girl  can't  do  one 
of  them!" 

She  was  watching  him  all  the  time  she  was  speaking, 
and  only  half  realised  that  her  indignation  was  warmly 
simulated  in  order  to  produce  an  effect  upon  him  and 
stiffen  a  wavering  determination.  For  a  moment  Gaga 
did  not  speak.  He  was  turning  the  matter  over  in  his 
mind,  and  Sally  saw  the  changes  of  opinion  that  passed 
across  his  face.  Weakness,  submission,  obstinacy,  be- 
wilderment were  all  to  be  observed.  Above  all,  weak- 
ness ;  but  a  weakness  that  could  be  diverted  into  defiance 
through  dread  of  her  own  contempt.  The  moment  was 
desperate.  Tears  sprang  to  Sally's  eyes.  She  became 
tense  with  chagrin  and  stubbornness.  A  gesture  would 
have  swept  her  wineglass  to  the  floor. 

"Never  mind!"  she  cried,  savagely,  now  really  moved 


GAGA  165 

to  anger  and  despair.  "You  see  how  it  is!  I  always 
knew  it  wouldn't  be  any  good.  Knew  it!  Oh,  I  ought 
to  have  .  .  ." 

Gaga  was  roused.  His  voice,  when  he  spoke,  was 
strangled. 

"Don't  be  silly!"  he  cried.  "We'll  do  it  .  .  .  er  .  .  . 
we'll  .  .  .  somehow  we'll  do  it."  Sally  waited,  her 
anger  cooling,  a  hope  rising  once  again  in  her  breast. 
Cruel  knowledge  of  him  surged  into  her  thoughts.  At 
last  the  determination  she  desired  came  from  Gaga.  He 
said,  in  a  grim  tone :  "She  needn't  know.  We  won't  tell 
her." 

Sally's  eyes  closed  for  a  moment.  As  if  she  had  willed 
this,  she  had  attained  her  end.  No  longer  was  there  to 
be  any  doubt.  They  had  an  understanding.  They  were 
going  to  do  something  together  which  must  be  kept  secret 
between  themselves.  She  did  not  make  even  a  tactical 
display  of  unwillingness.  She  too  greatly  desired  the  end 
to  endanger  (though  it  should  be  to  confirm)  her  aim 
by  any  further  display  of  finesse.  It  was  enough.  She 
was  hot  in  her  glimpse  of  the  triumph  she  had  secured. 
She  would  be  able  to  stay.  The  rest  of  their  evening 
was  now  unimportant,  because  they  had  need  only  to 
speak  of  details,  and  of  matters  unconnected  with  the 
plan. 

xiv 

Upon  the  day  following  this  dinner  and  momentous 
conversation,  Sally  was  working  listlessly  amid  the  hum 
of  girls'  chatter,  which  proceeded  unchecked  while  Miss 
Summers  was  out  of  the  room,  when  she  had  a  singu- 
lar knowledge  of  something  in  store.  She  was  struck 
almost  by  fear.  Quickly  she  looked  up,  and  across  at 
Rose  Anstey,  and  beyond  Rose  to  the  door  of  Madam's 
room.    Miss  Summers  stood  in  the  doorway,  smiling,  and 


166  COQUETTE 

beckoning  to  Sally.  Smiling — so  it  could  not  be  any- 
thing .  .  .  Madam  wanted  Sally;  but  Madam  would  not 
tell  Miss  Summers  .  .  .  Had  she  found  out  about  Gaga? 
Sally's  heart  was  like  lead.  But  Miss  Summers  was  smil- 
ing kindly  and  significantly,  which  she  would  not  have 
done  if  she  had  thought  the  interview  promised  to  be  un- 
pleasant. Besides,  Gaga  had  said  Miss  Summers  called 
Sally  her  best  worker.  It  was  nevertheless  a  nervous  girl 
who  went  into  the  room,  heard  the  door  close  behind  her, 
and  found  herself  alone  with  Madam. 

The  room  was  that  tawny  one  in  which  Sally  had  first 
seen  Madame  Gala.  It  was  lighted  by  one  large  window, 
and  it  was  not  really  a  large  room,  although  it  contained 
Madam's  enormous  table  and  a  bureau  and  a  number  of 
shelves  upon  which  reference  books  stood.  It  was  very 
quiet  and  cool  in  summer,  and  warm  in  winter;  and 
Madam  sat  at  her  writing  desk  in  a  stylish  costume  un- 
concealed by  any  overall.  Seated,  she  did  not  look  so 
terrifyingly  tall;  but  her  faded  eyes  had  still  that  pierc- 
ing scrutiny  which  had  disturbed  Sally  at  the  first  en- 
counter. Her  face  was  lined;  her  hair  bleached  and 
brittle;  but  the  long  thin  nose,  and  hard  thin  mouth,  and 
parched  thin  cheeks  all  gave  to  her  glance  a  chilling  qual- 
ity hard  to  endure.  Her  hands  were  those  of  a  skeleton: 
all  the  bones  could  be  seen  white  under  the  cream  skin. 
Sally,  abashed  and  full  of  flutterings  of  secret  guilt,  stood 
before  her  as  she  might  have  stood  before  one  omniscient; 
but  her  brain  was  not  abashed,  and  her  hearing  was  as 
strained  as  her  alert  wits.  So  the  two  hard  personalities 
encountered.  Presently  Madam  smiled — a.  smile  that  was 
tortured,  like  Gaga's,  and  showed  anaemic  gums  but  a 
row  of  astonishingly  good  teeth. 

"Sally,"  she  said.  "Sit  down  there,  will  you.  Now, 
you've  been  here  nearly  a  year.  D'you  know  that?  You 
were  seventeen  when  you  came.    You're  eighteen  now." 


GAGA  16T 

"Nearly,"  interjected  Sally. 

"Well,  when  you  came  you  had  seven  shillings  a  week. 
We're  going  to  make  it  ten  shillings  from  now.  And  of 
course  overtime  as  usual.  You  understand  that  I  don't 
want  you  to  talk  outside  about  your  wages.  At  the 
end  of  what  we  call  the  financial  year  we  may  be  able  to 
give  you  more.  I  can't  promise  that.  But  Miss  Summers 
tells  me  that  you  are  a  good  and  willing  worker;  and  I 
can  tell  for  myself  that  you  are  intelligent,  I  think  it 
will  be  worth  while  for  you  to  stay  here;  and  if  you 
go  on  as  you  have  begun  I  shall  hope  to  keep  you.  Now 
don't  get  the  idea  that  you're  indispensable.  Don't  get 
conceited.  But  be  encouraged  by  knowing  that  I  take  an 
interest  in  you.    That  will  do,  Sally,  thank  you.  .  .  ." 

"Thank  you.  Madam,"  responded  Sally,  demurely.  She 
stood  in  an  attitude  of  humility,  a  tremulous  smile  of 
candid  satisfaction  playing  round  her  mouth. 

Nobody  in  the  workroom  could  have  guessed  from  her 
manner  the  turbulence  of  Sally's  emotions.  Pleasure,  re- 
lief, self-confidence  struggled  within  her.  She  felt  an 
enormous  creature  surveying  a  pigmy  world;  and  yet, 
mechanically,  she  resumed  her  sewing  at  the  point  where 
she  had  left  it.  The  other  girls  all  turned  inquisitive 
faces  in  her  direction.  Was  it  the  sack?  A  row?  A 
rise  ?  Nothing  at  all  ?  Sally  was  a  baffling  creature  .  .  . 
a  white-faced  cocket.  She  was  deep.  That  word  of 
Miss  Rapson's  had  entered  the  hearts  of  the  girls.  Sally 
had  heard  it ;  she  knew  that  they  felt  her  superiority,  and 
gaped  at  it  with  faint  resentment.  A  flash  told  her  now 
that  they  were  all  on  tiptoe,  and  her  nonchalance  was 
a  piece  of  acting  which  she  enjoyed  for  its  effect  upon 
the  others.  She  most  mischievously  enjoyed  her  privilege. 
And  she  had  a  new  cause  for  triumph,  a  double  success. 
She  felt  herself  a  schemer,  an  intriguer,  which  she  was 
not.     She  was  merely  an  opportunist,  seizing  the  main 


168  COQUETTE 

chance.  Not  only  had  she  a  secret  understanding  with 
Gaga;  she  had  also  a  secret  understanding  with  Gaga's 
mother.  She  was  most  marvellously  Sally  Minto.  The 
world  was  open  to  her.  It  was  not  the  extra  three  shill- 
ings a  week  that  intoxicated  her:  it  was  the  sense  of  a 
difficult  and  engaging  future.  Her  ambition  had  never 
been  so  strong.  She  turned  her  thoughts  to  the  miserable 
room  at  home,  to  her  mother,  to  Mrs.  Perce.  She  wan- 
dered afield  to  the  dinners  with  Gaga,  to  her  recent  talk 
with  Madam.  Not  merely  wealth,  but  power,  seemed 
to  lie  ahead.  She  saw  once  more  Madam's  bad  health; 
the  probable  exaltation  of  Miss  Summers.  If  she  took 
care,  she  would  presently  lie  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
business.  Its  accounts  would  be  under  her  hand  in 
the  evenings ;  its  work  visible  to  her  eye  in  the  daytime. 
Miss  Summers  liked  her  and  trusted  her;  she  was  sure 
of  her  own  ability,  her  own  shrewdness ;  without  deliber- 
ately planning  it,  she  had  earned  the  good-will  of  the 
three  people  who  really  mattered,  so  far  as  her  progress 
was  concerned. 

What  if  Madam  were  away  ill?  What  if  she  died? 
Sally  trembled  at  the  prospect.  She  trembled  lest  some 
accident  should  interfere  with  what  was  otherwise  in- 
evitable. She  knew  that  with  Miss  Summers  she  had  no 
rival ;  her  compact  with  Gaga  was  secure,  unless  his  weak- 
ness betrayed  them.  Even  here,  she  knew  she  might  rely 
upon  his  integrity.  Gaga  would  keep  to  his  word.  Sally 
saw  herself  installed  as  bookkeeper — oh,  if  she  were  only 
older!  If  she  were  older,  if  she  were  twenty-five,  she 
would  hold  the  business  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand.  She 
was  already  learning  how  to  speak  to  the  ladies  who 
came  to  give  orders;  her  shrewdness  would  quickly  show 
her  which  were  good  accounts  and  which  required  watch- 
ing; and  her  work  never  grew  careless.  With  each  per- 
ception Sally's  brain  and  her  capacity  for  adapting  her- 


GAGA  169 

self  to  every  circumstance  seemed  to  expand.  She  was 
already  much  older  than  her  years.  With  a  little  more 
experience  she  would  be  in  a  commanding  position.  But 
Madam  must  be  ill,  Madam  must  .  .  .  Madam  must  be 
very  ill;  and  yet  not  before  Sally  had  made  sure  of 
Gaga.  Gaga  was  the  key  with  which  she  would  enter 
into  her  proper  sphere.     He  must  be  her  mascot. 

With  her  head  bent  Sally  stitched  busily  on,  never 
allowing  ambition  to  distract  her  from  the  immediate- 
task.  Baffled,  the  girls  fell  again  to  their  work.  That 
Sally  Minto  was  deep — you  couldn't  tell  what  she  was 
doing,  what  she  was  thinking.  She  was  deep.  Under 
her  breath  Sally  was  humming  a  tune,  a  familiar  tune.  A 
slow  grin  spread  over  her  white  face,  and  faded  again. 
Looking  up,  she  caught  Miss  Summers's  eye,  and  smiled 
faintly,  gratefully,  reassuringly.  She  recognised  at  once 
how  pleased  and  proud  Miss  Summers  was  at  Sally's 
progress.  If  her  mind  had  not  been  so  busy,  Sally  would 
have  felt  a  little  warmth  stealing  into  her  heart;  but  she 
was  not  aware  of  anything  except  Sally  Minto  and  her 
plans  for  worldly  advancement.  She  for  this  moment 
saw  Miss  Summers  also  merely  as  an  instrument,  a 
plump,  pussy-faced  woman  with  an  eternally  cold  nose 
and  a  heart  quick  to  respond  to  the  best  efforts  of  her 
favourite  hand. 

XV 

It  was  with  a  jump  of  excitement  that  Sally  heard,  in 
the  following  week,  that  Madam  was  very  ill  indeed. 
Gaga  came  in  the  morning  with  a  haggard  face,  having 
spent  the  night  by  his  mother's  bedside.  He  had  a  few 
words  with  Miss  Summers,  who  came  out  of  the  room 
with  a  comically  solemn  look  upon  her  plump  face.  She 
made  no  remark  to  the  girls,  but  at  lunch  time,  when 
the  others  were  out,  or  were  dispersed  in  the  part  of  the 


170  COQUETTE 

building  where  they  were  allowed  to  eat  whatever  they 
had  brought  for  lunch,  Sally  stole  into  Madam's  room, 
and  found  Gaga  there,  sitting  at  the  desk  with  his  hands 
covering  his  face.  When  Sally  approached  him  he  did 
not  seem  to  have  heard  her,  but  continued  sitting  thus, 
lost  in  a  depressed  stupor.  Sally  knew  that  there  was 
nobody  in  the  room  behind  her:  they  were  quite  alone. 

"Mr.  Bertram!"  she  said,  quietly.  Still  he  made  no 
response.  Her  heart  quickened.  Was  he  asleep?  Was 
he — was  he  dead?  She  took  a  further  step,  and  then 
spoke  his  name  again.  There  was  a  slight  movement. 
He  was  awake,  and  merely  very  unhappy  and  perhaps 
exhausted.  With  the  slightest  feeling  of  self -conscious- 
ness she  advanced  to  Gaga's  side,  and  laid  a  hand  upon 
his  shoulder.  She  could  see  the  thinning  hair  upon  the 
top  of  his  head,  and  the  long  slim  fingers  pressed  to  his 
temples. 

"Mr.  Bertram,  I'm  so  sorry,"  whispered  Sally.  Her 
arm  slipped  farther  round  his  shoulders,  and  her  breasf 
was  against  his  head,  so  gently  pressing  there  that  Gaga 
was  only  conscious  of  the  faintest  contact.  He  relaxed 
slightly,  and  his  hands  fell.  Two  gloomy  eyes  looked 
up  into  Sally's  face.  She  withdrew  her  arm,  standing 
now  beside  him,  altogether  apart. 

"You  made  me  feel  queer,"  Sally  went  on.  "Thought 
you  were  in  a  faint  or  something.  Are  you  ill?  Oh,  say 
something,  say  something!" 

All  Sally's  little  thin  body  grew  rigid  as  she  spoke, 
for  Gaga  looked  at  her  with  an  air  of  distraction.  He 
seemed  not  to  recognise  her.  His  eyes  were  yellow  and 
suffused,  his  mouth  was  open,  his  appearance  that  of  one 
who  was  hardly  sane. 

"I'm  all  right,"  came  at  last  with  an  effort  from  his 
dry  lips.  "All  right,  Sally.  Only  tired  .  .  .  ever  so 
tired."    There  followed  a  stiff  attempt  to  smile,  and  then 


GAGA  '  171 

his  face  was  hidden  once  again  by  the  long  hands.  "My 
head's  throbbing.    It's  like  pincers  in  my  head." 

"Have  you  got  any  medicine?"  she  asked,  quite  moved 
by  his  weakness.  "Go  out  and  get  some.  Quick!  Get 
a  chemist  to  .  .  ."  The  head  was  slowly  shaken.  "You 
ottght  to.  You  can't  do  anything  if  you're  ill.  Can't 
do  any  work,  or  help  Madam,  or  anything." 

"Better  presently,"  groaned  Gaga.  "That's  .  .  .  that's 
all  right,  Sally.  Good  little  girl  to  be  so  kind.  I've  been 
up  all  night.  She's  very  bad,  Sally;  very  bad.  I've  been 
up  all  night.  Never  mind;  I'll  be  better  presently."  He 
relapsed  into  his  former  comatose  state,  nerveless  and 
lethargic. 

"You  ought  to  get  some  sleep  now.  Go  home  to  bed," 
urged  Sally.  "It's  no  good  trying  to  work  if  you're 
sick.  Go  home  now."  She  did  not  know  how  motherly, 
how  caressing  and  wise,  her  voice  had  become.  She  was 
absorbed  in  his  state  of  exhaustion  and  passivity.  "It^s 
not  right,"  she  went  on.  "You  can't  do  any  good.  Get 
the  doctor  to  give  you  something  to  make  you  sleep." 

Gaga  groaned  again,  still  lost  in  his  own  sensations. 

"No  good,"  he  murmured.  "I  can't  sleep.  That's 
what's  the  matter.  Nothing  does  any  good.  I  can't 
sleep — can't  forget.  Only  sit  here  like  this,  and  feel 
stupid.  Never  mind,  Sally.  Good  little  girl."  He  spoke 
thickly,  like  a  man  who  has  been  drinking;  but  he  was 
stupidly  unshakable.  She  could  do  nothing  with  him. 
Having  withdrawn  her  arm  she  could  not  again  lay  it 
upon  his  shoulders;  but  stood  silent,  feeling  helpless  and 
on  tiptoe,  with  a  sense  of  strain.  She  was  not  miser- 
able nor  anxious  about  him;  she  could  almost  hear  her 
own  voice,  so  nearly  had  detachment  come  upon  her. 
And  with  something  like  cramp  in  her  limbs,  and  paraly- 
sis of  her  ingenuity,  she  remained  by  his  side,  one  hand 
resting  for  support  upon  Gaga's  desk.    Presently  he  with- 


172  COQUETTE 

drew  one  of  his  own  hands,  and  patted  hers;  and  as  if 
that  released  her  Sally  went  very  quietly  back  to  the 
workroom.  There  she  saw  two  or  three  of  the  girls 
busy  reading  a  paper,  and  in  a  little  while  Miss  Sum- 
mers came  back  and  work  was  resumed.  By  the  time 
Sally  could  again  go  into  Madam's  room  Gaga  had  dis- 
appeared, and  they  did  not  see  him  all  the  following  day. 


XVI 

Two  days  later  he  returned,  and  dully  went  on  with 
his  work  as  though  it  had  no  interest  for  him.  Miss 
Summers  had  several  times  to  suffer  the  ordeal  of  de- 
bilitating interviews;  and  towards  the  end  of  the  after- 
noon was  exasperated  to  tears.  Sally  could  tell  this  from 
the  sniffs  and  nose-rubbings  that  became  more  and  moro 
frequent.  Miss  Summers's  eye-rims  were  quite  pink, 
and  her  funny  eyes  were  moist.  She  looked  more  than 
ever  like  a  disconsolate  tabby,  and  her  hands  were  rest- 
less and  clumsy.  She  had  to  ask  Sally  to  thread  her 
needle,  and  even  to  finish  work  that  she  was  doing  badly 
because  of  her  agitation. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  murmured  Miss  Summers. 
"So  kind."  Then,  in  a  low  tone,  "Do  for  goodness'  sake 
go  in  and  see  what  Mr.  Bertram's  doing.  He's  quite 
absurd,  like  somebody  mad.  He's  not  in  his  senses,  that's 
clear;  and  it's  enough  to  drive  anybody  crazy." 

Sally  left  the  girls  and  slipped  into  Madam's  tawny 
room.  At  her  entrance  Gaga  gave  a  start,  and  his  ruler 
fell  clattering  to  the  floor.  But  when  he  saw  who  was 
there  his  face  brightened.  A  faint  smile  spread  across 
the  grey  cheeks,  making  Gaga  look  so  charming,  in  spite 
of  his  illness,  that  Sally  was  unexpectedly  relieved.  Her 
own  smile  was  instantly  responsive,  and  she  stood  almost 


GAGA  178 

roguishly  before  him  in  her  short  frock,  and  the  demure 
pinafore  which  she  was  wearing  over  it. 

"Miss  Summers  sent  me,"  she  explained.  "Thought 
you  might  want  some  help." 

Gaga  shook  his  head,  the  smile  still  apparent.  He 
shook  his  head  again,  trying  to  find  words  to  express 
himself,  and  failing. 

"No,  Sally,"  he  at  last  ventured.  "No  help.  I'm  bet- 
ter ..  .  almost  better,  today.  I  can  understand  .  .  . 
understand  what  I'm  doing.  I'm  afraid  .  .  .  er  .  .  . 
afraid  I  was  very  stupid  the  other  day.  I've  thought  of 
that  since.  Er  .  .  .  I  say  ...  I  wish  you'd  .  .  .  come 
out  to  dinner  tonight." 

"Really  ?"  Sally  beamed  upon  him.  She  gave  her  little 
grin,  and  nodded.  "If  you'd  like  me  to,  of  course  I  will. 
I'll  be  ready.     Thank  you  very  much." 

Gaga  made  a  heroic  effort.  He  began  to  stammer, 
checked  himself,  and  at  last  succeeded  in  imposing  coher- 
ence upon  his  wandering  words. 

"It's  you  who  .  .  .  ought  to  be  thanked,"  he  answered. 
"You  cheer  me  up." 

"Do  I?"  Sally's  tone  was  eager,  her  reply  instant. 
"I'm  so  glad.  I  like  to  feel  I  .  .  .  you  know,  cheer  you. 
Does  me  good." 

They  exchanged  shy  smiles,  and  parted;  Gaga  to  re- 
sume his  labours,  Sally  to  report  his  increasing  sanity  to 
Miss  Summers.  And  then  there  followed  the  unwanted 
hours  that  always  lie  between  the  making  of  a  desired 
Appointment  and  the  enjoyment  of  its  arrival.  Sally 
stitched  with  a  will,  for  her  anticipations  for  this  evening 
were  not  of  an  ambitious  kind.  She  knew  all  the  time  she 
was  working  that  she  looked  forward  to  the  outing, 
and  she  was  not  at  all  puzzled  at  her  own  expectancy,  be- 
cause in  any  case  a  dinner  with  Gaga  would  always  make 
a  break  in  her  often  monotonous  days  and  evenings.    But 


174  COQUETTE 

she  could  never  altog^etlier  fail  to  make  impulsive  plans, 
and  it  was  as  the  result  of  unconscious  reflection  that  she 
checked  Gaga  in  the  course  of  their  walk  together. 

"Don't  let's  go  to  the  Rezzonico,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"Let's  go  somewhere  quiet.' 

As  a  result,  they  turned  eastward,  into  the  region  of 
the  smaller  restaurants,  and  looked  at  several  before  Sally 
picked  one  called  "Le  Chat  Blanc."  It  seemed  to  her 
to  be  the  quietest  and  cleanest  they  had  seen,  and  at  any 
rate  it  would  be  a  new  experience  to  dine  there.  The 
doorway  was  modest,  and  the  windows  curtained  low 
enough  (in  a  red  and  white  check)  to  permit  a  glimpse 
of  the  small  but  shining  interior.  Within,  all  was  grey 
and  white.  Sally  led  the  way  into  the  place,  and  to  a 
remote  table,  and  seated  herself  with  an  air  of  confi- 
dence remarkable  in  one  who  dined,  as  it  were,  for  the 
third  time  only.  She  glanced  at  the  two  waitresses — 
both  very  dark  girls  with  earrings,  who  wore  their  black 
hair  coifTed  high  upon  their  heads.  They  were  Italians, 
agreeable  and  inquisitive;  and  the  food-smells  also  were 
Italian  and  full  flavoured.  As  soon  as  the  two  were  seated 
they  became  the  property  of  one  of  the  two  waitresses, 
who  stood  over  them  so  maternally  that  she  seemed  to 
have  no  desire  but  for  their  good-fortune  in  choosing  the 
meal  aright.  She  plunged  both  Sally  and  Gaga  into  a 
muddle  by  her  persuasive  translations  of  the  menu,  but 
she  made  up  for  her  linguistic  deficiencies  by  this  anx- 
ious interest  and  by  a  capricious  smile.  Scared  an4 
curious,  they  looked  round  the  plain  grey  walls  of  the 
clean  little  room,  and  at  the  four  or  five  other  people  who 
sat  near  them,  and  at  the  ceiling,  and  at  each  other. 

"It's  funny!"  whispered  Sally,  exultingly.  "Never 
seen  anything  like  it," 

"I  .  .  .  I've  never  seen  one  ...  so  ...  so  clean." 
stammered  Gaga. 


GAGA  175 

Near  them  a  conceited  young  man  with  a  hard  voice 
and  small  eyes  was  talking  impressively  to  an  untidy- 
looking  girl  in  green  with  a  maure  chiffon  scarf.  While 
he  talked,  the  girl  smoked  his  cigarettes,  and  interjected 
remarks  of  superior  quality.  Sally  heard  her  say  "Ah," 
in  sign  of  agreement,  and  once  "Oh,  yes,  of  course  Flau- 
bert .  .  ." 

"What's  Flaubert?"  she  asked  Gaga.  He  appeared 
startled. 

"Er  ...  I  don't  know,**  he  answered.  "What  put  it 
into  your  head  ?" 

"That  girl  said  it.  Listen."  They  listened.  The 
young  man  was  arguing  about  something.  He  was 
arguing  about  something  of  which  neither  Sally  nor  Gaga 
could  discover  the  purport.  Sally  said:  "They're  both 
woolly.  Woolly-wits,  they  are.  Both  got  maggots. 
What's  *art,'  anyway?  Pitchers?  And  all  that  about 
values  ?" 

Gaga  was  buried.    He  had  a  sudden  inspiration. 

"Don't  listen  to  them,"  he  said.  "It's  something  they 
.  .  .  they  understand." 

"I  bet  they  don't,"  remarked  Sally.  "You  don't  talk 
about  things  you  understand." 

"Well,  let's  talk  about  what  we  don't  understand  .  .  .'* 
He  was  beseeching  in  his  tone,  and  his  soft  eyes  glowed. 
The  waitress  approached,  bearing  two  large  plates  piled 
high  with  spaghetti." 

"Golly !"  ejaculated  Sally.    "Howjer  eat  it  ?    Fingers?" 

They  had  little  time  to  talk  while  they  were  engaged 
with  the  capers  of  this  surprising  food;  but  when  both 
were  tired  of  playing  with  the  spaghetti  they  turned  their 
attention  to  the  straw-covered  bottle  of  Chianti  which 
had  been  brought.  Sally  made  a  wry  mouth  at  her  first 
venture.  She  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  wine  was  heavier 
than  any  she  had  yet  drunk.     She  strained  her  ears  to 


176  COQUETTE 

catch  more  of  what  the  fascinatingly  conceited  young 
man  was  saying  about  his  inexhaustible  topic.  Good- 
looking  boy,  if  he  cut  his  hair  and  shaved  his  moustache 
off.  She  saw  Gaga  look  anxiously  and  wonderingly 
across  at  her,  with  a  kind  of  hunger;  and  she  was  shaken 
by  a  mischievous  notion.  She  had  never  done  such  a 
thing  before,  but  she  put  her  foot  forward  so  that  it 
touched  one  of  his,  and  smiled  right  into  Gaga's  choco- 
late eyes.  The  slow  red  crept  up  under  his  skin,  and 
they  had  no  need  to  talk.  Sally  was  laughing  to  her- 
self, and  eating  some  beautifully  cooked  veal,  and  she 
knew  that  Gaga  was  glowing  with  contentment.  She  at 
last  observed  the  two  talkers  slouch  out  of  the  restau- 
rant, the  man  in  very  baggy-kneed  trousers  and  a  loose 
coat,  and  the  girl  in  a  dress  of  home  make.  A  quick 
wrinkle  showed  in  Sally's  grimacing  nose  as  she  brought 
her  professional  eye  to  bear;  and  then  the  two  talkers 
were  gone  and  were  forgotten.  Sally  and  Gaga  were 
quite  alone  at  their  end  of  the  room,  in  a  corner,  favor- 
ably remote  for  intimate  conversation  from  the  remaining 
diners. 

"Funny  us  not  knowing  what  they  were  talking  about," 
mused  Sally.  "You  don't,  you  know.  It's  very  hard  to 
know  what  anybody  talks  about.  To  understand  it,  I 
mean.     Hard  to  know  anybody,  too." 

"I  shouldn't  have  thought  I  was  hard  to  know,"  ven- 
tured Gaga. 

'T  wasn't  thinking  about  you,"  said  Sally,  with  un- 
conscious cruelty.  "I  was  thinking  .  .  .  I've  forgotten. 
Isn't  this  wine  sour!  No,  I'm  getting  used  to  it — getting 
to  like  it.  Hasn't  half — I  mean,  it's  got  a  nice  smooth 
way  of  going  down."  As  Sally  checked  herself  she  real- 
ised that  she  was  now  so  much  at  ease  with  Gaga  that 
she  no  longer  worried  about  her  pronunciation  or  her 
words  when  she  was  with  him.  Worry  ?  Sally's  conceited- 


GAGA  177 

ness  soared  into  the  air  and  frowned  down  upon  the  falter- 
ing Gaga  with  something  Hke  scorn.  Poor  Gaga !  thought 
Sally.  Instantly  her  hardness  returned,  and  she  looked 
at  his  lined  face  and  the  pale  lips  that  hung  a  little  away 
from  his  teeth  in  sign  of  ill-health.  She  saw  his  dark 
grey  morning  coat,  and  the  slip  inside  the  waistcoat,  and 
his  sober  tie.  And  it  seemed  to  Sally  that  she  saw  right 
into  the  simple  mind  of  Gaga.  He  was  so  simple,  like 
the  hire  purchase  system.  He  was  about  the  simplest  man 
she  had  ever  seen,  for  his  tongue  could  hardly  utter  more 
than  the  tamest  of  words  and  phrases,  and  he  never 
seemed  to  Sally  to  keep  anything  back. 

"And  yet,  you  know,"  she  went  on,  following  Gaga's 
remark  and  this  train  of  throught,  "there's  lots  more  to 
know  about  people  than  just  what  you  see — and  what 
they  do  and  say.  If  you  know  them  ever  so  well,  you 
only  know  a  bit  of  them.  You  don't  know  me.  You 
think  I'm  a  little  girl  in  the  workroom,  and  a  worker, 
and  all  that." 

"I  think  you're  a  marvel!"  ejaculated  Gaga. 

"Yes,  well,  when  you've  got  to  the  end  of  thinking  I'm 
a  marvel,  what  happens  ?  You  don't  know  me  any  better. 
I  might  be  a  poisoner,  or  a  .  .  .  or  a  .  .  ."  Sally's  in- 
vention failed  her.  "I  might  keep  a  shop,  or  serve  a  bar, 
or  be  an  actress,"  she  went  on,  recovering  fertility.  "I 
mean,  in  the  evenings." 

"Yes,"  said  Gaga,  dubiously.  "I  suppose  you  might." 
He  was  struck  with  a  rather  superfine  notion.  "But 
you're  not,"  he  concluded.  He  enjoyed  a  manifest  tri- 
umph. 

"No."  Sally  raised  a  declamatory  finger.  "But  if  I 
TXHis,  you  wouldn't  know  it." 

They  had  reached  an  impassable  spot  in  their  talk. 
Sally  had  confounded  Gaga.  Neither  he  nor  she  was 
quite  as  mentally  alert  as  they  had  both  been  when 


178  COQUETTE 

hungry;  and  the  Chianti  was  beginning  to  make  them 
drowsy  and  rather  slow-witted.  But  having  embarked 
upon  the  question  of  possible  knowledge  of  character  they 
could  not,  in  consideration  of  their  slight  heaviness,  be 
expected  to  relinquish  a  topic  so  circular  and  so  sugges- 
tive of  personal  intimacy.  As  the  wine  acted  more  power- 
fully upon  them  it  was  more  and  more  to  themselves  that 
their  thoughts  and  speeches  turned. 

"I  feel  sometimes  that  I'm  a  great  fool,"  confessed 
Gaga.  "But  I'm  not  really  a  fool.  I  see  a  lot,  and  .  .  . 
I  don't  seem  able  to  act  on  it.  D'you  understand  what 
I  mean?" 

"Weak,"  Sally  vouchsafed,  wine-candid.  Gaga  glanced 
quickly  at  her. 

"I  don't  think  I'm  weak.  I  .  .  ."  His  thoughts 
strayed.  "See,  I've  never  had  much  of  a  chance  to  show 
what  I  can  do.  My  mother's  such  a  much  stronger  char- 
acter than  I  am." 

Sally  nodded,  and  sipped  again  at  the  thick  glass  from 
which  she  was  drinking. 

'I'm  strong,"  she  said.  "I'm  hard  .  .  .  tough.  If  I 
make  up  my  mind  .  .  ." 

"Yes.  I'm  like  that,"  insisted  Gaga.  It  was  so  pre- 
posterous that  Sally  could  only  look  measuringly  at  him 
with  a  puzzled  contempt  that  might  have  been  read. 

"I'm  stronger'n  you  are,"  she  answered.  "I'm  small; 
but  I  don't  mind  what  I  do.  You're  a  good  boy.  I'm  not. 
I'm  bad.  I'm  .  .  .  you  don't  know  what  goes  on  in  my 
head."  Suddenly  exasperated,  she  went  on :  "That's  what 
I  meant.  You  think  I'm  just  a  quiet  little  thing.  I'm 
not.  You  don't  know  what  I  think  about.  I  want  to  do 
all  sorts  of  things.  I  want  to  be  rich,  and  have  a  good 
time,  and  have  lots  of  .  .  .  lots  of  power.  I  want  to 
get  on.  If  anybody  gets  in  my  way  I  push  'em  out  of  it 
If  anybody  gets  in  yotir  way  you  stand  aside." 


GAGA  179 

"I  don't.  I  get  my  own  way,  but  not  by  fighting,'* 
Gaga  said. 

"Oho !  I  don't  fight,"  retorted  Sally.  "They're  afraid 
to  fight  me." 

Gaga  smiled. 

"They're  afraid  of  hurting  you,"  he  suggested.  "But 
I  know  just  what  you  mean."  His  confidence  was  un- 
shakable. 

"I  kick  'em  in  the  stomach,"  Sally  asserted.  "Any- 
where." 

"Yes.    They  wouldn't  take  liberties  with  you." 

"Not  unless  I  wanted  them  to,"  said  Sally,  abruptly 
sober.  "They  wouldn't  try  it  on.  None  of  the  girls  ever 
worry  me.  When  I  first  came  they  did.  They  were 
saucy.  I  soon  stopped  that.  I  got  a  tongue,  and  they 
found  it  out.    Now  Miss  Summers " 

"Don't  let's  talk  about  the  business,"  pleaded  Gaga. 
Sally  was  arrested. 

"Funny !"  she  exclaimed.    "We  haven't,  have  we !" 

"It's  so  much  nicer  being  .  .  .  friends." 

One  of  Gaga's  hands  was  stretched  across  the  table. 
With  a  sense  of  mischief  Sally  allowed  him  to  take  her 
own  hand.    Then  she  moved  it  quickly. 

"They're  looking  at  us,"  she  whispered  to  him.  "Those 
waitress  girls."  Instantly  she  was  free.  She  had  the 
thought  that  a  real  man  would  have  held  her  hand  for  a 
moment  longer.  All  the  same,  she  enjoyed  her  power 
over  Gaga.  The  little  unreadable  smile  that  so  excited 
him  was  upon  her  face,  and  the  knowledge  of  power  was 
in  her  heart. 

They  sat  for  a  little  while  over  coffee ;  and  then  Sally 
began  to  put  on  her  gloves.  A  few  minutes  later  they 
were  out  in  the  dark  street,  and  pausing  to  discover  the 
points  of  the  compass.  As  they  stood,  a  great  gust  of 
wind  came  sweeping  along  from  the  southeast,  and  at 


180  COQUETTE 

its  onset  the  two  became  strangely  embraced,  Gaga's  arm 
being  round  Sally,  and  the  brim  of  her  hat  against  his 
breast.  They  both  laughed,  and  Sally  stood  upright ;  but 
she  did  not  move  so  violently  that  Gaga  must  withdraw 
his  arm.  She  was  amused  and  elated  at  contact  with 
him.    Gaga,  encouraged,  drew  her  closer. 

"Oo !"  murmured  Sally.  She  let  him  see  her  laughing 
face. 

Gaga,  very  excited,  lowered  his  head.  Sally  jerked  her 
own  head  upon  one  side  with  lightning  speed,  and  felt 
his  lips  clumsily  upon  her  ear.  Twice  he  kissed  her, 
convulsively  hugging  her  to  his  side.  Then  Sally,  rather 
breathless,  but  not  at  all  discomposed,  pulled  herself  away. 

"Now,  now;  that's  enough,"  she  said.  They  were  both 
grinning ;  but  of  the  two  only  Sally  was  cool.  She  could 
tell  that  Gaga  was  trembling  slightly,  and  when  a  little 
later  they  parted  he  held  her  hand  for  a  long  time,  and 
sought  timidly  to  draw  her  to  him  again  for  another 
kiss.  Sally,  however,  ignored  the  pressure,  and  left  him 
standing  in  the  yellow  shop  and  street  lights,  while  she 
rode  securely  homeward  in  her  omnibus.  Her  last  glimpse 
was  of  newspaper  bills  lying  upon  the  pavement,  and  of 
men  and  women  in  motion  against  the  lights,  and  Gaga 
standing  watching  her  out  of  sight.  Then  she  looked 
round  the  omnibus,  at  some  other  girls,  and  an  old  man 
who  wore  two  waistcoats,  and  the  conductor;  and  her 
face  again  puckered  into  a  smile. 

"Doesn't  half  think  he's  a  devil,"  she  thought,  de- 
murely. 

Then  other  thoughts  of  Gaga  arose,  and  Sally  frowned 
a  little.  She  had  a  sudden  feeling  that  she  was  on  diffi- 
cult ground.  She  was  not  afraid,  not  nervous;  but  her 
imaginings  darted  swiftly  here  and  there  at  the  bidding 
of  a  knowledge  that  she  must  not  at  this  juncture  make 
any  false  step. 


GAGA  181 


xvii 


All  the  way  home  Sally  had  the  one  subject,  the  one 
series  of  speculations,  hammering  at  her  attention.  She 
was  again  sensible ;  she  was  shrewd  and  perceptive.  Gaga 
was  a  funny  old  stick,  she  thought ;  funny  and  weak  and 
nice.  She  could  play  upon  him  with  ease.  A  touch,  and 
he  was  thrilled ;  a  kiss,  and  he  was  beside  himself.  And 
yet  what  did  he  want — ^what  did  he  think  he  wanted? 
And  what  did  Sally  herself  want?  She  did  not  know. 
She  felt  at  a  loss,  excited  and  almost  wanton.  Yet  so 
much  depended  upon  all  this  that  she  dared  not  make  a 
mistake.  Gaga's  goodwill  was  of  enormous  importance. 
In  his  hands  lay  some  of  her  future.  If  she  could  help 
him,  earn  rewards,  understand  the  business,  she  could 
master  everything.  And  Madam — what  if  Madam  died? 
Supposing  she  suddenly  died,  and  left  Gaga  in  control 
of  the  business,  what  would  happen?  Sally  hoisted  her 
shoulders  in  doubt.  Gaga  might  sell  the  whole  thing. 
He  might  run  it  himself.  He  would  keep  Miss  Sum- 
mers .  .  . 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  was  older!"  cried  Sally,  impatiently.  "I 
could  do  it,  but  they  wouldn't  let  me.  They'd  think  I 
couldn't.  I  could !  Not  all  at  once,  but  in  a  little  while. 
If  he'd  hold  on.  Supposing  he  .  .  .  wants  me  .  .  ." 
Her  thoughts  flitted  away.  She  had  a  quick  picture  of 
Gaga  as  a  lover,  of  herself  managing  everything  by  keep- 
ing him  at  her  side  with  cajolery  and  parsimoniously- 
yielded  delights.  But  he  might  grow  tired  of  her;  and 
then  where  would  she  be  ?  Sally  did  not  trust  men  now ; 
she  too  clearly  saw  that  once  they  were  no  longer  tantal- 
ised they  were  liable  to  become  sated  and  uneager.  She 
was  face  to  face  with  that  speculation  here.  It  all  de- 
pended upon  Gaga,  upon  the  strength  of  her  hold  upon 
him.     Could  she  so  play  that  she  reaped  all  the  advan- 


182  COQUETTE 

tage  she  needed  without  giving  anything  at  all  ?  She  was 
deperately  tempted.  She  so  greatly  craved  the  power 
which  only  Gaga  could  give  her.  Well,  what  did  he 
want?  It  was  not  enough  that  she  should  recognise  her 
power  to  excite  him :  she  needed  much  more  than  a  few 
odd  favours.  And  she  was  afraid  to  do  anything  to 
force  him  to  grant  whatever  he  could.  In  any  case,  what 
could  he  give  her?  She  was  too  observant  to  be  de- 
ceived as  to  his  powerlessness.  She  saw  him  as  a 
cypher;  but  as  one  who  might  one  day — perhaps  quite 
soon — own  the  whole  business.  Who  else  was  there  to 
make  him  do  anything  with  it  ?  There  was  nobody.  Sally 
knew  her  own  strength.  What  she  could  not  guess  was 
the  best  means  of  using  it  to  her  own  advantage. 

She  arrived  home  to  find  her  mother  in  bed,  with  her 
short  grey  hair  scantily  bedecking  the  pillow.  At  Sally's 
entrance,  Mrs.  Minto  opened  weary  eyes,  and  looked  at 
her  with  a  sort  of  hatred.  Sally  knew  the  expression :  it 
was  full  of  suspicion  and  dread  and  solicitude,  the  result 
of  Mrs.  Minto's  lonely  evening  of  speculation. 

"Hullo,  ma!"  she  cried,  recklessly.  "Here  I  am.  And 
I  haven't  been  working.  And  there's  nothing  to  fuss 
about.    And  that's  all  about  that." 

"Where  you  been?"  sternly  demanded  Mrs.  Minto. 

"Well,"  began  Sally,  "if  you  must  know,  Madam's 
worse.  She's  ill.  Think  she's  going  to  die.  And  I  been 
talking  to  Mr.  Bertram,  and  giving  him  good  advice.  I'm 
a  mother  to  that  man.  What  he'd  do  without  me  I  can't 
think." 

"Oo,  Mr.  Bertram!"  It  was  clearly  a  warning  cry. 
"Mr.  Bertram!    Oo,  Sally!" 

"Soppy,  ma.  We  call  him  'Gaga.*  He's  weak,  you 
know.  Cries  over  his  work,  like  a  kid.  Wants  somebody 
to  give  him  a  bit  of  backbone." 

"Confidence,"  suggested  Mrs.  Minto,  intrigued  by  the 


GAGA  183 

picture.  She  said  no  more,  but  rolled  over  and  stared  at 
the  dim  wall  until  sleep  crept  upon  her  and  annulled  her 
reflections. 

Sally  was  struck  by  the  word.  Confidence !  That  was 
what  Gaga  needed!  Half  the  time  he  was  afraid  of  his 
own  shadow.  Quickly  her  brain  refashioned  the  meal  she 
had  had  with  Gaga.  Poor  lamb,  he  hadn't  got  any  con- 
fidence! Madam  had  kept  him  down.  He  wanted  rous- 
ing. Once  get  his  blood  up,  and  he  might  do  something 
really  .  .  .  For  the  first  time  Sally  was  genuinely  inter- 
ested in  Gaga.  She  had  never  honestly  thought  of  help- 
ing him  for  his  own  sake.  All  she  had  thought  of  was  her 
own  future.  And  now  her  mother  had  put  Gaga  in  a 
new  light.  Sally  almost  thought  well  of  him.  He  might 
be  rather  bigger  than  she  had  supposed.  What  if  he 
were? 

Yes,  but  what  did  Gaga  want  of  Sally?  You  don't 
kiss  a  girl  because  she  is  anything  but  a  girl.  It  was  a 
profundity.     Gaga  had  kissed  Sally  because.  .  .  . 

Sally  turned  away  to  hide  from  any  glance  of  her 
sleeping  mother  the  gleeful  smile  which  had  made  her  face 
radiant.  She  had  been  kissed  because  she  had  encouraged 
Gaga  to  kiss  her ;  but  he  was  so  timid  that  he  would  never 
have  done  it  if  he  had  not  very  greatly  desired  to  kiss 
her.  She  wondered  what  he  thought  about  her.  He 
talked  of  their  being  "friends";  he  was  half  silly  about 
her ;  he  had  kissed  her  and  had  wanted  to  kiss  her  again. 
Having  begun,  he  would  want  to  go  on  kissing  her.  And 
then,  what?  He  would  be  afraid  to  kiss  her  at  their 
next  meeting;  but  he  would  all  the  time  be  watching  his 
opportunity  to  do  so.  Was  Sally  going  to  give  him  his 
opportunity?  Was  she  going  to  give  him  the  confidence 
necessary  for  the  task  of  using  his  opportunity?  She 
was  still  gay,  still  amused  and  self-confident;  but  there 
was  a  doubt  in  her  eyes.    She  wanted  to  know  more.    She 


184  COQUETTE 

wanted  to  know  all  that  was  still  hidden  from  her.  All 
the  same,  during  the  whole  of  her  questioning  of  Gaga  s 
ultimate  aspirations,  she  never  once  lost  the  consciousness 
that  the  next  step  lay  with  herself.  Was  she  going  to 
give  him  that  necessary  confidence? 

"Oh,  I  think  so,"  thought  Sally,  dehberately;  and 
smiled  almost  to  laughter  as  she  lay  with  her  face  upon 
the  pillow  and  was  aware  of  the  whole  of  her  warm 
body,  from  the  tip  of  her  nose  to  her  round  heels  and 
the  eager  fingers  bunched  close  to  her  breast.  "I  think 
so  .  .  ."  she  repeated,  with  more  humorousness.  She 
had  a  vision  of  Gaga  with  his  chocolate  eyes  glowing  into 
her  own  as  the  result  of  the  wine  and  his  proximity  to 
herself.  She  saw  his  thin  lips  stretched,  and  the  faint 
red  under  his  grey  cheeks,  and  his  thin  hair.  She  felt 
his  lips  clumsily  kissing  her  ear,  the  nervous  clutching  of 
his  arms.  Sally  was  pleased.  She  knew  that  sleep  was 
almost  upon  her,  and  heard  Mrs.  Minto's  deep  breathing 
a  foot  away  from  the  back  of  her  head.  Yawningly,  she 
snuggled  more  comfortably  into  her  pillow,  and  as  con- 
sciousness slipped  away  a  distant  murmur  seemed  to  re- 
peat: "Yes  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  I  .  .  .  think  so."  In  a  mood 
of  expectant  triumph  she  slept,  sure  for  the  moment  of  the 
course  of  future  events. 


xviu 

All  the  next  day  Sally's  nerves  were  on  edge.  She  had 
slept  heavily,  and  had  awakened  unre  freshed.  She  had 
made  her  way  to  Madame  Gala's  in  a  tame  morning  mood, 
once  again  self-distrustful,  very  much  waiting  upon 
events.  The  sight  of  Nosey  checking  the  times  of  arrival, 
and  still  more  the  gloomy  aspect  of  a  half -empty  work- 
room, chilled  her.  Miss  Summers  looked  spiteful,  Rose 
Anstey  was  sniffling  with  a  cold,  the  others  were  listless 


GAGA  185 

and  tired.  It  was  a  muggy  morning,  and  all  spirits  were 
low.  Sally's  were  lower  than  any  others  in  the  room. 
She  began  to  work  with  only  half  her  ordinary  attentive- 
ness,  broke  her  cotton,  snapped  a  needle,  fidgetted.  Her 
eyelids  were  hot,  and  she  felt  a  headache  begin  to  throb 
faintly  in  promise  of  greater  effort  later  in  the  day.  She 
was  restless  and  wretched,  looking  at  the  door  which  prob- 
ably hid  Gaga.  Even  the  memory  of  last  night's  kisses 
was  stale  and  unsatisfactory.  As  she  drew  her  breath 
in  a  half-sob,  Sally  longed  suddenly  for  Toby.  She 
longed  for  his  strong  arms,  his  possessive  air,  his  muscu- 
lar strength.  And  as  she  thought  of  Toby  a  tear  came  to 
her  eye,  and  she  felt  that  life  was  not  worth  living.  A 
consciousness  of  childish  need  for  support  destroyed  all 
her  confidence  at  a  blow.  How  she  hated  all  these  stupid 
girls!  How  she  longed  for  something — she  could  not 
imagine  what — which  should  take  her  out  of  their  com- 
pany. Complaint  filled  her  mind.  Why  should  she  have 
to  work,  to  go  backwards  and  forwards  between  the 
workroom  and  that  miserable  home  where  her  mother 
stewed  incessantly  and  followed  the  course  of  her  monot- 
onous days?  It  was  a  mood  of  pure  reaction,  but  it 
made  Sally  desperate.  Her  head  began  to  ache  more 
noticeably.     She  was  almost  crying. 

That,  perhaps,  was  the  condition  of  them  all.  None  of 
the  girls  spoke,  and  all  looked  black  and  miserable  as  they 
bent  over  their  work,  or  slacked  and  glanced  around 
them.  Outside,  the  rain  began  to  fall,  and  the  sky  was 
grey  with  cloud.  The  lights  had  to  be  switched  on,  and 
they  cast  a  deceptive  glow  upon  all  work,  and  idiotic 
shadows  of  the  moving  fingers  of  the  girls.  Miss  Sum- 
mers glowered  and  rubbed  the  tip  of  her  nose;  and  at 
each  crack  or  rustle  of  a  chair  or  a  piece  of  material 
she  glanced  sharply  up,  as  though  she  were  fighting  with 
an  impulse  to  scream.    Sally  felt  that  if  Miss  Summers 


186  COQUETTE 

had  screamed  they  would  all  have  screamed.  She  herself 
was  tempted  to  scream  first,  so  as  to  see  what  would 
happen.  She  thought  that  all  work  would  be  instantly 
thrown  down,  and  that  everybody  would  answer  her 
cry,  and  then  begin  noisily  to  sob.  Even  miserable  as 
she  was,  the  thought  of  this  avalanche  of  feminine  ex- 
citability made  Sally  snuffle  with  amusement.  She  pic- 
tured Gaga  running  out  of  his  room,  distraught,  looking 
yellow  and  bilious,  his  eyes  staring  wildly  out  of  his 
head,  as  do  the  eyes  of  prawns.  And  then?  And  then 
Rose  Anstey  would  fall  bellowing  into  his  arms,  and 
Sally  would  tear  her  away,  and  claim  Gaga  before  them 
all.  .  .  . 

How  astounded  he  would  be!  But  anything  would 
be  better  than  this  wretched  suppressed  exasperation 
which  was  making  the  atmosphere  of  the  workroom  un- 
bearable. Fortunately  a  girl  finished  the  work  she  was 
doing,  and  took  it  to  Miss  Summers. 

"Very  bad!"  snapped  Miss  Summers.  "It's  not  even 
straight !  You  must  do  it  again.  Naughty  girl,  to  waste 
that  silk  like  this !" 

The  girl  began  weakly  to  cry.  All  the  others  stared 
viciously  at  her,  gloating  over  her  distress,  hating  her, 
and  thankful  to  have  some  object  at  which  to  discharge 
their  suppressed  venom.  They  would  have  liked  to  beat 
her.  Savagery  shone  in  their  malignant  eyes.  All  be- 
came sadistic  in  their  enjoyment  of  the  weeping  girl  as 
she  crept  back  to  her  place.  Only  Miss  Summers  grew 
rather  red,  and  swallowed  quickly,  and  was  ashamed. 

"Nancy!"  she  called.    "What  is  it?    Aren't  you  well?" 

Nancy  put  her  head  upon  her  outstretched  arms,  and 
they  could  hear  the  long  dreadful  sobs  that  shook  her 
body.  Upon  every  face  Sally  read  the  same  message ;  the 
curled  lips,  the  pinched  nostrils,  all  indicated  the  general 
strain. 


GAGA  187 

"We're  all  like  that  this  morning,  Miss  Summers,"  she 
said,  almost  with  defiance.  "It's  the  weather.  That's 
what  it  is." 

The  other  girls  all  turned  from  Nancy  and  transferred 
to  Sally  their  mounting  malevolence.  They  would  have 
liked  to  see  her  swept  from  her  place.  They  could  have 
scratched  and  bitten  her  with  fury.  And  yet,  a  moment 
or  two  after  she  had  spoken,  there  was  a  perceptible  re- 
lief. Nancy  stole  out  of  the  room,  to  finish  her  cry  and 
bathe  her  face,  and  one  of  the  girls — her  friend — went 
after  her.  There  was  a  pause  in  work.  A  window  was 
opened,  and  some  air  lightened  the  oppression.  Sally  re- 
mained seated,  while  the  others  crowded  to  the  window, 
and  slowly  recovered  her  own  composure.  And  then,  in 
five  minutes,  when  everybody  resumed,  it  was  found  that 
things  were  not  so  bad  after  all,  and  Nancy's  work  was 
rectified,  and  Rose  Anstey  blew  her  nose  and  looked  di»^ 
agreeable,  and  some  of  them  talked ;  so  that  presently  all 
became  more  animated,  and  the  sky  lightened,  and  the 
day  was  less  trying.  Only  Sally's  head  continued  to  ache, 
and  her  spirits  to  falter.  But  she  no  longer  sighed  for 
Toby.  A  curious  dread  of  him  came  into  her  conscious- 
ness, which  she  could  not  understand.  She  was  afraid. 
She  felt  defensive  towards  him,  and  explanatory.  Undef 
her  attention  all  sorts  of  impulses  were  at  work.  Pictures 
of  Toby  in  different  circumstances  began  to  flash  into  her 
mind,  always  blurring  in  an  instant ;  while  the  memory  of 
her  dinner  with  Gaga  grew  stronger  and  more  remark- 
able. Not  knowing  what  she  was  doing,  Sally  pushed 
her  work  away,  and  sat  in  a  brown  study,  until  she  be- 
came aware  that  she  was  under  observation. 

Sally  met  these  cruel  stares  with  immediately  assumed 
equanimity,  and  she  once  more  drew  the  work  towards 
her;  and  in  a  few  moments  the  girls  forgot  Sally,  and 
chattered  a  little  together.    And  by  the  time  their  atten- 


188  COQUETTE 

tion  was  withdrawn  wholly  it  was  the  luncheon  interval, 
which  meant  more  to  all  of  them  than  usual,  since  it 
once  more  gave  the  girls  an  opportunity  for  standing  up 
and  moving  about.  They  grouped,  and  went  slowly  to- 
wards the  room  where  they  always  ate;  and  Sally  was 
able  to  open  the  other  door  for  an  instant,  only  to  discover 
that  Madam's  room  was  empty.  With  a  sinking  heart, 
she  followed  the  others,  again  beset  by  a  loss  of  confi- 
dence. 

In  the  afternoon  she  was  sent  out  by  Miss  Summers 
to  match  some  silk,  and  this  gave  Sally  relief  without 
which  she  must  have  ended  the  day  feeling  ill.  As  it  was, 
she  came  back  just  as  they  were  making  tea,  and  her  own 
cup  of  tea  sent  the  headache  away.  For  the  first  time 
that  day,  Sally  heard  herself  laughing.  She  was  telling 
Muriel  of  a  fight  between  two  dogs,  and  how  a  man  had 
been  overthrown  in  the  mud  through  trying  to  part  the 
dogs;  and  when  Muriel  laughed  Sally  laughed  also,  which 
made  the  other  girls  prick  up  their  ears  and  grow  more 
lively.  There  was  a  great  change  in  the  general  at- 
mosphere after  tea.  The  constraint  disappeared,  and 
everybody  became  more  normal.  Needles  were  more 
adroitly  used;  the  light  improved;  a  general  air  of  con- 
tentment arose.  Sally  no  longer  thought  of  Toby,  or  of 
Gaga.  She  was  making  a  dream  for  herself,  out  of  a 
motor  car  she  had  seen,  and  a  handsome  soldier,  and  the 
way  a  commissionaire  had  stepped  out  of  her  way.  She 
needed  few  materials  for  her  dream,  and  was  a  fine  lady 
for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

Dreaming,  however,  has  its  penalties;  and  for  this  oc- 
casion Sally  was  punished  by  having  to  stay  rather  late 
in  order  to  finish  what  she  was  doing.  The  other  girls 
began  to  go  home ;  but  Sally  and  Miss  Summers  remained 
at  their  tasks.  The  delay  produced  a  strange  experience 
for  Sally,  because  when  they  were  alone  together  Miss 


GAGA  189 

Summers  began  abruptly  to  talk.  She  hummed  a  little 
at  first,  and  then  broke  into  a  long  speech  which  had  been 
seething  all  day  in  her  mind. 

"I  hope  you  don't  think  I  was  nasty  to  Nancy  this 
morning,  Sally.  She's  a  funny  girl.  She's  in  love,  you 
know;  and  thinks  of  nothing  but  this  man.  And  he's 
a  married  man,  too,  and  not  a  good  man,  Sally.  He'd 
think  nothing  of  leading  a  girl  like  Nancy  into  doing 
wrong,  and  leaving  her  to  get  on  as  well  as  she  can. 
Well,  that's  not  right,  Sally."  Miss  Summers  felt  for 
her  handkerchief,  and  Sally  noticed  with  astonishment 
that  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  "You  see,  when  a  man's 
married  he  ought  to  be  careful  what  he  does.  Now  once, 
when  I  was  a  girl,  I'd  got  my  head  full  of  the  sort  of 
things  that  young  girls  have — not  you,  Sally ;  you're  too 
sensible ; — and  I  met  a  man,  and  thought  he  was  the  .  .  . 
well,  I  thought  he  was  the  finest  man  in  the  world.  He 
wasn't.  He'd  got  a  poor  wretched  wife  that  he  neglected, 
and  he  drank,  and  when  he  ran  away  they  found  he'd 
been  betting  with  money  that  didn't  belong  to  him.  And 
he  very  nearly  took  me  with  him.  Fortunately,  I  didn't 
go.  I  was  afraid  to  go — though  I  didn't  know  about 
his  wife.  He  said  he'd  marry  me  when  we  got  away. 
Well,  I  thought  it  was  funny.  I  said,  'Why  not  be- 
fore?' and  he  said,  'You  don't  understand.  What  if 
we  didn't  suit  each  other?'  I  said,  'Why  shouldn't  we? 
Other  people  get  married.'  And  all  that  sort  of  thing  I 
said.  Well,  I  wanted  to  go,  and  wanted  to  go ;  and  at  last 
I  didn't,  and  I  was  thankful  afterwards.  Now  Nancy's 
man  is  a  shopwalker  somewhere.  He's  got  no  money, 
but  he's  good-looking,  you  know,  and  girls  think  a  lot 
of  that  when  they're  young;  and  also  he's  one  of  those 
men  who  give  a  girl  the  idea  that  he  can  have  twenty 
others  if  he  wants  them.    That's  what  upsets  a  girl.    She 


190  COQUETTE 

thinks  she's  got  to  make  her  mind  up  in  a  hurry,  or  lose 
him,  d'you  see?" 

"More  fool  she,"  remarked  Sally.    "Pooh !" 

"So  /  say.  Mind,  in  Nancy's  case,  she's  just  in  love. 
He  may  not  want  her.  She  doesn't  know.  And  it's  the 
uncertainty  that  keeps  her  like  this.  Far  better  if  she 
married  some  steady  young  fellow  who'd  make  her  a 
good  husband.  But  girls  don't  think  of  that.  They  don't 
like  steady  fellows,  any  more  than  young  fellows  like 
steady  girls." 

"That's  true,"  said  Sally,  thoughtfully.  "They  want 
a  bit  of  ginger." 

"Well,  sometimes  I  think  nobody  ought  to  marry  until 
they're  well  on  in  life." 

^'They'd  miss  a  lot,"  Sally  murmured. 

"Eh?  Well,  it's  a  puzzle  to  me.  Look  at  Nancy. 
What  is  it  she  wants?  She's  got  forty  or  fifty  years  more 
to  live." 

"But  you  don't  think  like  that,"  breathed  Sally.  "It's 
love." 

Miss  Summers  gave  a  great  sigh,  and  rubbed  the  tip 
of  her  nose  with  the  back  of  her  forefinger.  She  was 
seriously  perplexed  at  the  interruption  from  one  so  saga- 
cious. 

"You'll  think  twice  before  you  marry  for  just  love, 
and  nothing  else,"  said  she. 

Sally's  little  white  face  was  turned  away.  She  was 
apparently  concentrated  upon  her  work. 

"Perhaps  I  shall,"  she  admitted.  "You  never  know 
what  you'll  do  till  the  time  comes." 

"You  can  make  up  your  mind  to  be  careful,"  said 
Miss  Summers.  "It's  not  the  first  man  who  makes  the 
best  husband." 

Sally  crouched  in  her  place.  Her  heart  was  beating  so 
fast  that  she  felt  as  though  she  were  suffocating.     Miss 


GAGA  191 

Summers  could  not  appreciate  the  effect  of  her  words, 
because  she  had  gone  back  again  to  the  subject  of  Nancy 
and  her  married  shopwalker. 

"You  ought  to  have  seen  that  child's  work  today !" 

"Perhaps  she's  going  to  have  a  baby?"  suggested  Sally. 
It  gave  Miss  Summers  a  great  shock. 

"Oh!  D'you  think  so?"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  wide 
open  with  horror.    "Oh,  no!" 

"You'd  have  thought  they  were  all  going  to  have  'em, 
the  way  the  girls  all  looked  and  acted  this  morning.  They 
were  all  potty.     Silly  fools." 

Miss  Summers  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  then  she 
laughed  a  little. 

"We  were  all  rather  grumpy  this  morning,"  she  ad- 
mitted. "It's  the  weather.  Always  upsets  people.  Doc- 
tor Johnson  said  it  didn't." 

"Who's  he?  Doctors  don't  know  anything  at  all. 
Only  take  advantage  of  other  people's  ignorance.  They 
frighten  people,  you  know,  looking  wise,  and  making 
you  put  out  your  tongue,  and  all." 

"I  don't  know  what  we  should  do  without  them," 
sighed  Miss  Summers.  "Of  course,  there's  always  the 
patent  medicines;  but  I  never  foimd  anything  that  cured 
my  indigestion." 

"Only  chewing  prop'ly,"  grimly  suggested  Sally. 

Miss  Summers  abruptly  rolled  up  her  work  at  this 
unsympathetic  remark,  and  took  off  her  pinafore.  She 
stood  uncertainly  by  the  window. 

"I've  been  keeping  you,"  she  said.  "But  I  am  worried 
about  that  child.  I  do  hope  she  hasn't  been  silly.  At 
her  age  they've  got  no  sense  at  all.  They  can't  see  an 
inch  before  their  nose.  You  coming  now,  Sally?  All 
right,  slam  the  door  after  you  .  .  .  Don't  stay  too  late." 

Ten  minutes  afterwards  Miss  Summers  had  gone. 
Sally  waited  a  little  while,  to  give  her  time  to  reach  the 


192  COQUETTE 

street  and  remember  anything  that  might  bring  her  back. 
Then,  very  quietly,  she  took  off  her  own  pinafore,  and 
stole  across  the  room  and  listened  at  Gaga's  door.  She 
could  hear  nothing.  Sharply,  she  tapped,  and  listened 
again. 

"Come  in !"  said  a  voice. 

Sally  opened  the  door,  standing  there  in  her  grey  dress, 
with  her  hair  brilliant,  and  her  whole  face  smiling.  And 
Gaga,  looking  up  from  his  work,  saw  her  thus  as  a 
vision,  a  happy  vision  for  tired  eyes.  He  smiled  in  re- 
turn and  Sally  advanced,  without  any  shyness  or  assumed 
shyness,  into  the  room. 

"Wondered  if  you  were  here,"  she  said  cheerfully. 
"Everybody  else  has  gone.  Miss  Summers  and  all.  I'm 
working  on  something.  Oo,  hasn't  it  been  a  day!  The 
girls  all  had  the  fidgets.    I've  been  quite  ill  all  day." 

"111?"  demanded  Gaga.  "Not  .  .  .  not  really  ill ?  Oh, 
I'm  .  .  .  I'm  so  sorry.    Poor  Sally !" 

"Headache,"  mentioned  Sally,  rather  lugubriously,  so 
as  to  encourage  his  pity. 

"Headache  ?    Oh,  poor  little  girl !    So  have  I." 

Sally  gave  a  little  laugh.  It  contained  all  sorts  of  pro- 
vocative shades  of  meaning. 

"Hn,"  she  said.  "Funny  us  both  having  headaches. 
You  still  got  yours?" 

Gaga  nodded.  She  went  farther  towards  him,  hesi- 
tated, and  then  still  nearer. 

"Very  bad,"  groaned  Gaga,  and  Sally  could  see  the 
heaviness  round  his  eyes. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said  in  a  soft  voice.  Then :  "My 
hand's  cool.  Shall  I  ?"  She  put  her  hand  to  Gaga's  fore- 
head, and  felt  how  burning  it  was.  She  felt  him  grow 
rigid  at  the  contact,  and  saw  his  face  betray  his  sensitive- 
ness to  her  touch.  Sally's  smile  deepened  in  mischief. 
She  was  playing  with  him,  playing  with  fire  and  Gaga  at 


GAGA  193 

the  same  time,  and  only  lightly  amused  at  her  employ- 
ment. But  she  was  still  apart  from  him,  standing  erect, 
with  her  right  arm  outstretched.  There  was  not  yet  any 
intimacy  in  her  attitude.  Nor  could  she  see  his  face  very 
plainly  without  peeping  over  her  arm, 

"That  better?"  she  asked. 

"Beautiful."  Gaga  tried  to  move  his  head.  Failing, 
he  put  his  hand  to  her  wrist,  pulled  it  down,  and  pressed 
his  lips  to  her  fingers. 

"Now,  now!"  warned  Sally.  "I'm  curing  your  head- 
ache." 

Mildly  he  permitted  the  withdrawal  of  her  hand  and 
its  replacement  upon  his  brow.  But  in  a  moment  Sally, 
perhaps  growing  more  daring,  exchanged  her  right  hand 
for  her  left;  and  this  meant  approaching  Gaga  more 
closely,  and  the  partial  encirclement  of  his  head  with  her 
arm.  She  was  quite  near  him,  as  Gaga  must  have  known ; 
but  he  did  not  dare  to  put  his  arm  round  her,  as  he 
might  easily  have  done.  Sally,  so  experienced,  guessed 
at  his  temptation,  at  his  fear,  and  relished  both.  She 
was  also  aware  of  a  singular  tenderness  towards  him, 
a  protective,  superior  wisdom  that  made  Gaga  seem  to  be 
a  child  in  his  trepidation.  To  her  an  embrace  meant  so 
much  less  than  it  meant  to  him,  and  she  knew  quite  well 
that  a  flirtatious  man  would  have  recognised  the  game 
that  was  in  progress  and  risked  a  rebuff  because  of  the 
successive  return.  Sally  was  still  so  far  from  deliberately 
exploiting  Gaga  that  she  did  not  feel  impatient  at  his 
slowness.  She  savoured  it,  appreciating  the  fact  that  he 
shrank,  knowing  that  when  she  wanted  him  to  do  any- 
thing she  could  always  manage  Gaga  with  the  lightest 
touch.  And  that  was  why,  in  a  moment,  she  allowed 
herself  contact  with  his  shoulder.  Gaga's  arm  mechani- 
cally rose,  and  was  about  her  waist,  quite  unpossessively. 
His  face  was  moved  with  a  conflict  of  emotions.     Sally 


194  COQUETTE 

recognised  temptation  and  self -consciousness,  and  also, 
with  amusement,  a  sense  of  his  own  incomparable  daring. 

"You  are  a  devil,  aren't  you !"  she  whispered.  Instant- 
ly she  knew  that  she  had  made  a  mistake.  His  arm  re- 
laxed. It  was  only  when  she  drew  his  aching  head  to  her 
breast  that  she  recovered  her  mastery  of  him.  It  was 
the  only  mistake  she  had  made,  and  it  was  at  that  time 
the  last,  for  she  learnt  at  once  that  he  was  sensitive  to 
ridicule.  She  had  stepped  too  far,  and  had  thereby,  for 
a  moment,  endangered  her  sport.  She  was  smiling  again, 
but  she  had  breathed  quickly,  at  the  knowledge  of  danger. 

"How's  the  head?"  she  asked.  "My  hand's  getting 
hot." 

"Very  bad,"  answered  Gaga,  dreading  her  withdrawal. 

"Let  me  get  a  wet  handkerchief." 

"No,  no.  Don't  move.  I  ...  I  don't  want  you  to 
move." 

Unconsciously,  Sally  gave  a  little  sigh.  It  was  all  so 
easy,  so  much  a  question  of  his  being  content  with  what- 
ever she  gave,  that  the  adventure  was  fading.  It  was 
ceasing  to  amuse  her. 

"That's  enough,"  she  said.  "Now  I'm  going  home." 
She  did  not  move,  and  Gaga's  clasp  tightened. 

"No,"  he  murmured  entreatingly.    "Not  yet." 

*'Must  go."  She  took  her  hand  away  from  his  fore- 
head, lingeringly.  Gaga  held  her  to  him  with  rigidity. 
"Let  me  go."  He  took  no  notice,  and  Sally's  hand  rested 
gently  upon  his  shoulder.    At  last :  "Well  ?"  said  she. 

"Don't  go." 

There  was  the  slightest  struggle,  and  Sally  was  free. 
Gaga's  face  was  quite  red.  She  stood  looking  down  at 
him,  on  her  lips  that  same  quizzical  smile.  Gaga  could 
not  bear  it.  He  rose  quickly,  and  at  her  flight  followed 
breathlessly.  She  was  again  lightly  imprisoned,  her  head 
to  his  breast,  and  his  arms  giving  small  convulsive  pres- 


GAGA  195 

sures  as  he  sought  to  retain  her.  She  could  tell  his 
physical  weakness,  and  his  feeble,  excited  desire  for  her, 
and  she  felt  his  face  pressed  to  her  hair.  Again  Gaga 
kissed  Sally,  but  she  continued  to  withhold  her  lips,  so 
that  he  approached  no  nearer  than  her  cheek. 

"You  .  .  .  you  must  know  I  love  you,"  breathed  Gaga. 

"Do  I?"  asked  Sally,  coolly.  "I  don't.  Why  should 
I?" 

"Can't  you  tell  ?'*  He  was  speaking  directly  into  her  ear, 
so  that  she  felt  his  breath.  "I  love  you  .  .  .  like  this !" 
He  held  her  with  all  his  strength,  and  gave  her  cheek  a 
fevered,  gnawing  kiss.    "D'you  see,  Sally?    I  love  you." 

"How's  your  headache?"  asked  Sally. 

"I  .  .  .  oh,  Sally.  Better  .  .  .  better.  But  Sally!  I 
love  you.  Don't  you  love  me  a  little?  Sally!"  There 
was  a  long  silence.  Consideringly,  Sally  looked  down, 
faintly  excited,  but  unemotional.  He  vainly  sought  to 
achieve  a  mutual  kiss;  but  she  kept  her  head  turned 
away.  Strange!  Her  brain  was  perfectly  clear!  She 
was  aware  of  every  contact  with  him,  knew  his  every 
wish;  and  was  unmoved.  How  different  it  was  from 
when  she  was  with  Toby!  Gaga's  voice  resumed:  "I 
think  you  1  .  .  .  love  me  a  little,  Sally,  my  dear,  my 
angel." 

"Angel!  Good  lord!"  ejaculated  Sally.  She  put  her 
hands  to  his  breast,  forcing  him  a  little  away.  "D'you 
think  I'm  an  angel?" 

"Yes!"  came  defiantly  from  Gaga. 

"You're  mad!"  cried  Sally,  with  contempt.  "You 
don't  know  what  you're  talking  about.  And  even  if  you 
are  in  love  with  me,  as  you  say,  what  does  it  mean  ?  You'd 
soon  get  tired  of  me.  You'd  begin  to  think  I  wasn't  an 
angel.    What's  the  good  of  it  all?" 

Gaga  looked  astounded. 

"But  if  you  love  riiej*  he  stammered. 


196  COQUETTE 

Sally's  face  was  darkened.  She  had  tears  in  her  eyesy 
and  her  mouth  was  thin  and  hard.  There  was  altO' 
gether  a  hardness  in  her  expression  that  terrified  Gaga. 

"Even  if  I  did,"  she  said  in  a  grim  voice. 

"But  we  could  be  married,"  he  urged. 

Married !  Sally's  heart  gave  a  jump.  Her  cheeks  were 
suffused.  Married !  She  could  hardly  conceal  her  amaze- 
ment. He  had  flown  right  past  her  expectation  by  that 
single  word.  Sally  was  aghast,  forced  to  exercise  all  her 
self-control  to  prevent  him  from  seeing  how  staggered 
she  was. 

"Married!"  she  said,  deprecatingly.  "What  would  you 
want  to  marry  a  girl  like  me  for?"  But  as  she  spoke 
she  no  longer  meant  the  words  which  had  been  conceived 
in  honesty.  A  storm  of  temptation  was  upon  her.  Mar- 
ried to  Gaga!  Why,  nothing  could  stop  her!  Married 
to  him,  she  would  be  unassailable.  It  was  not  to  be  be- 
lieved. 

"Because  I  love  you,  Sally,  do  say  'yes.*  "  He  was  be- 
seeching. His  grey  face  was  flushed,  his  lips  eagerly 
parted,  his  eyes  radiant.  Gaga  seemed  transfigured.  And 
his  embrace  was  strengthened  each  instant  by  his  vehe- 
ment desire  for  her. 

"You  love  me?"  Sally's  voice  had  become  thick  and 
stupid  as  she  struggled  to  maintain  her  clearness  of  judg- 
ment in  face  of  this  overwhelming  proposal. 

"Say  'yes,'  "  urged  Gaga.  "Say  'yes.'  It  would  be 
so  wonderful.  Sally,  I've  never  .  .  .  never  been  in  love 
before,  I've  .  .  .  never  wanted  a  girl  like  this.  You're 
so  ,  .  ." 

"What  am  I  ?"  Sally  voice  was  tender,  lingering.  The 
tears  came  again  to  her  eyes,  so  touched  was  she  by 
his  earnestness  and  his  gentleness,  so  puzzled  by  the  un- 
foreseen situation. 

"So  lovely,"  Gaga  breathed.    His  lips  came  nearer,  and 


GAGA  197 

she  did  not  withdraw.  He  kissed  her  mouth  at  last,  and 
again ;  and  at  her  response  the  kiss  became  long  and  pos- 
sessive. "You  lovely  girl,"  he  went  on.  "We'll  be  mar- 
ried .  .  .  and  .  .  .  and  so  happy." 

"I  don't  know."  cried  Sally.     "I  don't  know." 

"Dear!"  he  begged. 

"I'm  not  sure.  Perhaps  you'll  be  sorry  to-morrow  that 
you  asked  me.  Will  you?  Sorry?  Such  things  have 
been  known  to  happen."  Her  voice  was  quite  hard,  be- 
cause her  temptation  was  so  great. 

"I'll  never  change.     I  love  you." 

"I  wonder."  Sally  shook  her  head.  "I'll  tell  you  to- 
morrow."   She  was  still  dubious,  suspicious. 

"Let  me  get  a  license," 

Sally's  heart  jumped  again.  He  had  once  more  sur- 
prised her,  and  she  had  supposed  herself  altogether  be- 
yond surprise,  A  license !  Her  quick  glance  could  fathom 
no  deceit,  no  inconceivable  sportiveness  in  Gaga. 

"Oh !  You  are  in  a  hurry !"  she  exclaimed,  delaying- 
ly.    "Frightened  you  will  change." 

"I'm  frightened  of  losing  you." 

Sally  laughed  a  little,  held  up  her  face,  and  kissed  him. 
Still  she  was  puzzled. 

"To-morrow.  But  you'll  be  sorry  by  then.  I  won't 
promise." 

She  found  it  not  unpleasant  to  be  loved  in  this  fervid, 
nervous  fashion.  It  amused  her.  But  she  was  curiously 
unmoved,  and  when  he  had  put  her  into  her  omnibus  Sally 
breathed  almost  with  relief.  Strange  to  feel  that  relief 
after  parting  from  the  man  you  might  be  going  to  marry ! 
Sally  jerked  her  head.  She  remembered  suddenly  that 
Miss  Summers  had  said  earlier  in  the  day.  "You'll  think 
twice  before  you  marry  for  just  love,  and  nothing  else," 
Miss  Summers  had  said.  "You're  right,  my  dear,"  thought 
Sally.    And  then  there  came  galloping  into  her  memory 


198  COQUETTE 

a  recollection  that  made  Sally  blanch.  "It's  not  the  first 
man  who  makes  the  best  husband,"  Miss  Summers  had 
said.  Not  the  first  man !  The  reason  for  Sally's  fear  was 
explained.  She  had  known  all  along  why  she  was  afraid, 
and  had  pressed  back  the  knowledge  from  her  attention, 
so  that  it  should  not  interfere  with  her  actions.  The  first 
man  was  Toby;  and  it  was  of  Toby  that  she  was  afraid — 
of  Toby  and  his  love  for  her;  and,  more  than  all,  of  her 
strangely  smouldering  love  for  Toby. 

xix 

What  had  she  been  doing  to  forget  Toby?  Had  she 
forgotten  him  at  all?  Somehow  Toby  had  a  little  faded 
from  her  mind  in  these  days,  because  he  was  on  a  voyage 
longer  than  usual,  and  she  had  not  heard  from  him.  Toby, 
her  lover !  Only  when  she  had  been  a  little  frightened  or 
"  distressed  had  she  longed  for  his  protective  arms.  Other- 
wise he  had  slipped  into  a  sure  place  in  her  self-knowledge. 
He  was  the  man  she  loved,  strong  and  rough,  the  first  to 
capture  her  heart,  and  until  now  the  only  man  to  hold  her 
imagination.  At  the  thought  of  deserting  him  Sally 
shrank.  She  belonged  to  Toby.  Toby  belonged  to  her. 
She  had  been  going  to  marry  him.  If  she  had  not  loved 
Toby  she  would  ruthlessly  have  shouldered  him  aside ;  but 
she  could  not  do  that,  because  he  was  her  lover.  And  she 
was  afraid.  If  once  she  betrayed  him,  Toby  might  kill 
her.  She  became  terrified  at  the  idea.  Men  killed  their 
girls  for  jealousy's  sake.  She  had  often  read  in  the  papers 
of  what  were  called  "love  tragedies." 

Sally  did  not  want  to  die.  She  wanted  to  rise  to  power, 
to  riches.  And  Gaga  offered  her  the  way  to  attain  her 
ambition.  Married  to  him  she  could  have  all,  or  almost 
all,  she  wanted.  If  she  refused  him  she  might  lose  every- 
thing.   She  might  lose  her  place  with  Madame  Gala,  she 


GAGA  199 

might  .  .  .  How  harassed  she  was !  It  was  such  a  temp- 
tation !  Gaga,  with  money,  and  everything  that  he  could 
offer;  and  Toby,  with  love  that  she  craved,  and  years  of 
waiting,  and  a  poky  house,  and  his  opposition  to  all  she 
might  want  to  do  upon  her  own  account.  She  had  a  vision 
of  his  lowering  face,  his  savage  mouth.  She  remembered 
all  her  joys  in  his  arms.  A  shudder  shook  Sally  at  thought 
of  his  vengefulness,  his  fierce  strength.  And  then,  when 
she  was  married  to  Gaga,  she  would  be  mistress  of  so 
much  that  she  desired.  It  was  a  desperate  problem.  The 
more  she  thought  of  it,  the  more  tormented  Sally  became. 

She  was  still  in  active  distress  when  she  reached  home; 
and  her  headache  of  the  morning  had  returned.  Bright 
colour  showed  in  her  pale  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  bril- 
liant with  excitement.  She  was  at  high  tension.  The  first 
sight  of  their  room,  and  her  mother's  squalid  figure,  pro- 
duced a  violent  effect  upon  Sally's  thoughts.  Anything 
to  escape  from  this !  Anything !  But  what  of  Toby  ?  His 
strong  hands  could  crush  the  life  out  of  her.  His  jealousy 
would  be  so  unmeasured  .  .  .  He  would  kill  Gaga.  He 
would  kill  her.  Sally  was  carried  to  an  extreme  pitch  of 
fear.    Life  was  so  precious  to  her.    And  she  loved  Toby. 

Did  she  still  love  him?  Did  he  still  love  her?  They 
were  both  older;  separation  had  made  each  of  them  less 
dependent  upon  the  other  than  they  had  been  at  first,  and 
even  although  her  love  was  jubilant  when  Toby  returned 
on  leave  she  was  no  longer  the  rapturous  girl  of  even  a 
year  before.  Long  and  long  Sally  remained  torn  between 
her  two  desires.  She  did  not  sleep  at  all,  but  lay  turning 
from  side  to  side  and  longing  for  oblivion  or  the  daylight. 
She  had  never  been  so  confronted  with  great  temptation 
and  great  fear.  Her  head  ached  more  and  more.  She 
could  not  cry,  or  sleep,  or  forget.  She  lay  with  open  eyes, 
watching  the  window  for  the  dawn.    And  when  the  mom- 


200  COQUETTE 

ing  broke  she  was  still  undetermined.  The  choice  was  too 
difficult. 

Breakfast  was  uneatable;  her  journey  to  work  was  a 
dream.  She  shrank  from  going  into  the  workroom,  from 
seeing  Gaga.  All  her  confidence  had  disappeared.  She 
was  a  bewildered  little  girl — not  eighteen,  but  a  child  still 
without  sense  of  direction.  At  one  minute  Toby  seemed 
the  only  choice  to  make,  but  principally  because  she  was 
afraid  of  what  he  might  do  if  she  married  Gaga;  and 
when  she  forgot  her  fear  she  no  longer  hesitated  between 
love  and  ambition.  She  argued  that  she  no  longer  loved 
Toby.  She  never  once  considered  her  feeling  for  Gaga. 
She  hardly  thought  of  him,  or  of  what  marriage  to  him 
might  mean.  Her  eye  was  all  to  the  consequences.  It 
was  so  throughout,  whether  she  thought  of  Toby  or  his 
new  rival.    All  her  thoughts  were  anticipations. 

As  she  sat  at  work  she  began  to  lose  fear  of  Toby.  She 
felt  she  could  always  manage  him,  explain  to  him.  She 
pretended  that  they  would  be  friends ;  though  the  thought 
of  Toby  married  to  another  girl  gave  her  a  sharp  horror. 
If  she  married,  it  was  different.  She  did  not  imagine 
what  Toby  might  feel — only  what  he  might  do.  She  was 
thus  the  complete  egoist.  Not  Toby's  happiness  or  unhap- 
piness  was  implicated ;  but  only  her  own  dominant  desire. 
If  she  had  still  been  unsatisfied  in  her  love  for  Toby,  she 
might  have  valued  him  more;  but  she  knew  all  that  he 
could  teach  her  of  love,  and  already  her  strong  eagerness 
for  him  was  becoming  old  and  accustomed.  The  one  re- 
straint she  had  was  fear  of  what  he  might  do;  and  that 
fear  was  beginning  to  decline  in  face  of  stronger  impulses 
towards  the  opportunity  which  marriage  with  Gaga  would 
produce.  And  just  in  this  crucial  stage  of  her  reflections 
came  a  most  striking  fresh  influence.  It  was  brought  by 
Miss  Summers,  who  returned  from  the  telephone  with  a 
solemn  expression  upon  her  face. 


GAGA  201 

"Sally,"  she  said.  "Come  here."  When  Sally  ap- 
proached her,  Miss  Summers  pretended  to  give  some  in- 
structions ;  but  in  reality,  under  her  breath,  she  murmured : 
"Sally,  don't  tell  the  other  girls ;  but  Madam's  worse  this 
morning.  Her  temperature's  103."  Her  warning  frown 
emphasised  the  meaning  of  the  words.  It  made  Sally's 
heart  begin  to  beat  fast.     Madam  .  .  .  Madam  .  .  . 

With  her  head  low,  Sally  bent  over  her  work.  But  that 
frown  had  brought  decision  to  her  mind.  She  would 
marry  Gaga.  It  was  so  important  that  she  should  not 
miss  this  chance  that  she  would  marry  him  at  once.  She 
fniist  do  so.  It  was  essential.  What  if  he  had  grown 
frightened  ? 

That  was  her  new  spur  of  fear.  Toby  was  forgotten. 
She  was  on  fire  for  the  marriage.  It  had  now  become  the 
only  conclusion  to  her  doubts.  She  must  take  the  earliest 
opportunity  of  seeing  Gaga,  of  conveying  her  acceptance, 
of  making  sure  of  him.  Her  fingers  trembled,  so  impor- 
tant did  time  now  seem  to  Sally.  Her  one  anxiety  was 
lest  she  should  have  to  kindle  his  eagerness  anew. 
Troubled  but  resolute,  she  tried  in  vain  to  work.  Every 
sound  made  her  start.  All  her  attention  was  distracted 
from  the  sewing  and  concentrated  upon  the  possibility  of 
an  interview  with  Gaga.  Yet  a  shyness  made  her  afraid 
to  leave  her  place  and  go  into  Madam's  room.  The  other 
girls  would  notice.  What  if  they  did?  They  would  soon 
know  that  they  could  not  treat  her  with  anything  but  hu- 
mility. She  would  have  untold  power  over  them.  Sally 
almost  recoiled  from  the  knowledge  of  what  power  she 
would  wield  in  the  business  once  she  was  Gaga's  wife.  It 
seemed  to  her  incredible.  Her  mind  strayed  to  Miss  Sum- 
mers, Miss  Rapson,  the  jealous  Rose.  .  .  .  How  would 
they  like  it?  What  would  they  do?  Sally  imagined  the 
news  reaching  them,  imagined  their  fear  of  her,  their  jeal- 
ousy,  their  cutting   remarks  about  herself.     And  she 


202  COQUETTE 

laughed,  knowing  that  she  would  be  out  of  reach  of  any 
of  the  harm  that  they  might  wish  her. 

While  she  was  thus  contemplating  a  development,  the 
door  of  Gaga's  room  opened,  and  he  came  quickly  into  the 
workroom.  Sally's  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating.  She 
felt  sick  with  dread.  He  wore  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole. 
His  first  glance  was  for  Sally,  as  her  own  lightning  scru- 
tiny showed.  He  was  white,  but  he  smiled.  His  eagerness 
of  inquiry  was  manifest.  Sally  could  not  help  smiling  in 
return,  although  she  was  trembling,  and  knew  that  he  too 
must  be  trembling.  She  gave  the  faintest  possible  nod, 
and  saw  the  colour  start  to  his  cheek.  Gaga  was  checked 
for  an  instant  in  his  progress.  His  smile  broadened,  his 
head  was  thrown  back.  At  that  moment  he  looked  almost 
like  a  determined  man,  so  vividly  did  Sally's  nod  cause 
a  new  ichor  of  confidence  to  run  in  his  veins. 


XX 

On  a  bright  morning  about  ten  days  later,  Sally  lay  in 
bed  watching  her  mother  prepare  the  breakfast  upon  their 
oil  stove.  Although  the  year  was  in  its  last  months  it 
was  still  warm  and  sunny,  and  Mrs.  Minto  clambered 
about  the  room  half-dressed,  with  her  grey  hair  hanging 
behind  in  ragged  tails.  With  her  bodice  off  she  looked 
more  than  ever  meagre,  her  thin  face  sharper  and  greyer 
than  of  old,  and  her  movements  more  uncertain.  As  Sally 
watched  her  mother  she  realised  that  the  unsightly  walls 
and  battered  furniture  were  just  of  a  piece  with  the  creep- 
ing figure.  What  she  did  not  understand  was  that  Mrs. 
Minto  was  so  used  to  the  furniture,  which  she  had  known 
during  the  whole  of  her  married  life,  that  she  did  not 
recognise  its  dilapidation.  But  Sally  had  no  time  for 
thought  of  her  mother.     She  was  excited.     Her  tongue 


GAGA  203 

came  out  between  her  teeth,  and  she  looked  at  the  ceiling. 
At  last,  in  a  laconic  voice,  she  said : 

"Ma!"  Mrs.  Minto  glanced  wearily  at  her.  Sally  con- 
sidered her  speech  with  a  further  smile,  so  that  Mrs. 
Minto  became  irritated,  and  went  on  with  her  prepara- 
tions in  a  rather  indignant  way.  "Ma,"  resumed  Sally, 
relishingly,  "I  shan't  be  home  to-night." 

Mrs.  Minto  started.    She  became  instantly  alert. 

"Oh  yes  you  will,  my  girl,"  she  cried  sternly.  "None 
o'that!" 

"Yes,  I  shan't  be  home  to-night,"  repeated  Sally.  "Nor 
to-morrow  night,  either." 

Mrs.  Minto  left  her  work  and  came  to  the  bedside.  She 
was  like  a  snarling  bitch,  savage  over  her  threatened 
young. 

"Sally !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  rough  voice.  "What  you 
doing!  What  d'you  mean?  Of  course  you'll  be  home. 
You're  not  going  to  play  any  tricks  with  me,  my  gel." 

"I  shan't  be  coming  home,"  continued  Sally.  "Not  ever. 
I'm  getting  married  to-day." 

Mrs.  Minto  sat  down  upon  the  bed. 

"Married !"  she  screamed.  "Married!  Why,  who  you 
going  to  marry !  What  d'you  mean  ?  Silly  girl,  trying  to 
frighten  me !" 

"Don't  get  excited,  ma.  I'm  going  to  look  after  you. 
The  fact  is,  I'm  .  .  .  well,  you'll  be  all  right.  Nothing 
to  worry  about." 

"Who  is  he?"  demanded  Mrs.  Minto.  "Who  is  he?" 
She  was  desperately  agitated.  "Sally,  I'm  you  mother  .  .  . 
Oh,  you  bad  girl !  You  been  hiding  ...  I  knew  you  was 
hiding  something.  I  knew  where  them  fast  frocks  was 
leading  you !" 

Sally  was  enjoying  the  scene.  But  she  suddenly  checked 
herself. 


204  COQUETTE 

"Ma,  I'm  marrying  a  rich  man.  I'm  marrying  Madam's 
son. 

"Madam's  ^om!" 

"Yes."  She  was  complacent.  "Those  fast  frocks  lead 
to  the  registry  office." 

"Reg  .  .  .  Not  in  church?    It's  .  .  .  Sally!" 

"What  I  say,"  cried  Sally. 

"A  rich  man!" 

"Mr.  Bertram.  And  what's  more  he  loves  me.  And 
you  won't  have  to  do  any  more  charing.  Only  sit  here 
and  gorge  yourself  on  the  police  news,  like  a  lady, 
and  .  .  ." 

"Married!"  gasped  Mrs.  Minto.  She  gave  a  foolish 
giggling  laugh,  and  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  "Is 
it  true,  Sally?" 

Sally  held  up  her  left  hand,  brought  it  blazing  from 
under  the  bedclothes.  Mrs.  Minto  seized  the  hand, 
squeezed  it  hard,  and  pored  over  the  brilliants. 

"Well !"  she  exclaimed.  Then  she  shook  her  head,  and 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  cheeks.  A  great  sobriety  ap- 
peared in  her  expression.  Anxiety  was  her  dominating 
concern.  "D'you  love  him,  Sally?  You  ought  to  have 
told  me.  I  ought  to  have  seen  him.  He  hasn't  asked  for 
you.    He  ought  to  have  come  and  asked  your  mother." 

"Madam's  ill.  I  told  him  I'd  tell  you.  You  got  to 
give  your  consent,  'cause  I'm  so  young.  He's  got  no  time 
to  get  away.  I'm  very  fond  of  him,  and  he  thinks 
I'm  .  .  ."  Sally  hoisted  her  shoulders.  She  had  spoken 
very  deliberately. 

"You  said  he  was  soppy." 

Sally  turned  a  cold  eye  upon  her  mother. 

"You  got  too  good  a  memory,"  she  remarked.  "What 
I've  said  to  you  .  .  .  Well,  I  knew  you'd  worry  about 
him,  and  think  I  was  going  to  get  into  trouble,  and  .  ,  . 


GAGA  205 

Anyway,  we're  getting  married  this  morning,  and  going 
for  our  honeymoon  this  afternoon." 

"Where  you  going?" 

"In  the  country,  Penterby.  It's  on  the  river,  near  the 
sea.  You  get  to  the  sea  in  no  time.  Ga — Bertram — Bert 
says  it's  lovely.  Quiet,  and  .  .  .  you  know,  you  can  get 
about." 

"Married !    I  can't  believe  it !" 

"I'll  show  you  my  certificate,  when  I  get  it.  Don't 
you  believe  me  ?" 

Mrs.  Minto  sat  quite  still  upon  the  bed  for  a  minute, 
her  face  intensely  pale.  She  seemed  unable  to  say  any- 
thing more.  Then,  very  slowly  indeed,  she  recovered  the 
power  of  motion,  and  rose  wearily  to  her  feet.  She  did 
not  look  at  Sally,  but  kept  her  eyes  away.  She  stood  up- 
right, and  took  two  or  three  steps.  But  as  she  paused 
again  her  emotion  became  overwhelming,  and  she 
clutched  feebly  at  the  bedrail.  With  her  head  resting 
upon  both  thin  arms  she  began  to  cry  aloud — great  tur- 
bulent sobs  which  shook  her  whole  body. 

"My  baby !  My  baby  1"  she  wailed  noisily.  "Oh,  what 
shall  I  do!    My  baby!" 

Sally's  lips  quivered.  She  tried  to  smile.  Slowly  she 
crept  out  of  bed,  and  put  her  arms  round  her  mother. 

"Sh!  Sh!"  she  whispered.  "Ma!  Ma!  You're  mak- 
ing me  blubber,  too.    You  old  fool !    It's  not  a  funeral !" 

Strange  emotion  shook  Sally  as  well  as  her  mother. 
But  they  were  different.  A  thoughtful  pucker  came  be- 
tween her  brows,  and  she  had  a  smile  that  was  almost 
contemptuous. 

"Ma!"  she  repeated,  as  the  sobs  remained  vehement. 
"Shut  up,  ma !  Oh,  what  an  old  image !  Talk  about  a 
noise!  Anybody'd  think  it  was  you  who  was  getting 
married !" 

She  had  recovered  her  own  nerve.    She  could  not  see 


206  COQUETTE 

the  future ;  but  her  head  was  cool,  and  she  stared  over  her 
mother's  shoulder  at  the  sunlight  bleaching  the  outer 
grime  of  the  neighbouring  roofs.  In  her  thin  nightgown 
she  looked  like  a  child,  and  her  face  was  so  impish  that 
she  seemed  to  regard  her  marriage  as  one  more  in  a  long 
series  of  good  jokes.  Her  eyes  were  wide  open,  and  her 
lips  smiling. 


BOOK  THREE:    CONSEQUENCES 


BOOK  THREE:    CONSEQUENCES 


THE  Merricks — Sally  and  Bertram — went  for  their 
honeymoon  to  Penterby,  a  little  South  of  England 
town  near  the  sea  but  not  actually  upon  the  coast.  The 
honeymoon  was  to  be  a  short  one,  the  barest  weekend, 
and  so  they  could  not  go  far  from  London ;  and  for  some 
reason  Gaga  could  not  stand  the  sea  itself.  Strong  air 
made  him  ill,  and  even  sight  of  rolling  waves  made 
him  feel  sick.  Sally,  still  elated  and  not  as  yet  very  con- 
fident or  assertive,  immediately  agreed  when  he  suggested 
this  country  town ;  but  she  had  no  real  notion  of  what  was 
in  store  for  her.  She  was  all  half -amused  trepidation. 
The  scuffled  marriage-ceremony,  after  which  the  regis- 
trar's clerk  hurried  to  call  for  her  for  the  first  time  by  her 
new  name,  was  fun  to  her.  It  meant  nothing :  *T,  Sarah, 
Margaret  Minto,  call  on  these  present  .  .  ."  It  was  all 
a  part  of  a  game,  a  rather  exciting  game ;  and  Gaga  was 
410  more  to  her  after  the  ceremony  than  he  had  been 
before  it.  He  was  a  tall  agitated  grey  creature,  very 
tremulous  and  muffled  in  his  s|>eech,  and  nothing  like  a 
husband.  What  was  a  husband?  How  did  one  feel  to- 
wards a  husband  ?  All  Sally  knew  was  that  her  husband 
was  a  stranger.  He  was  one  man  out  of  millions  of  men, 
no  more  and  no  less  than  the  others.  The  thought  that 
she  was  binding  herself  to  him  for  life  did  not  trouble 
her.    It  did  not  enter  her  head. 

Nevertheless,  she  felt  triumph  at  her  wedding  ring, 
and  clutched  Gaga's  arm  as  they  came  out  of  the  register 
office  with  their  two  casually-acquired  witnesses.     They 

200 


210  COQUETTE 

were  instantly  alone,  and  walking  along  the  street  to- 
gether in  the  autumn  sunshine,  married  and  excited,  but 
merely  two  strangers  on  their  way  to  lunch.  And  yet 
that  was  not  quite  all,  because  when  they  were  seated  at 
lunch  Sally  felt  the  slightest  sensation  of  flurry  at  Gaga's 
possessive  stare.  She  returned  it  boldly,  quite  unembar- 
rassed; but  across  her  mind  flitted  a  knowledge  which 
came  there  of  its  own  accord.  He  was  a  weak  man,  weak 
in  his  possessiveness  as  he  had  been  weak  in  his  stammer- 
ing; and  the  possessiveness  (which  in  a  strong  man  might 
have  excited  her)  gave  Sally  an  uncomfortable  sense  that 
Gaga  might  bother  her.  She  had  never  realised  this.  She 
saw  in  this  instant  that  he  would  be  jealous,  exacting, 
amorous.  She  did  not  love  him,  and  the  amorousness 
of  the  unloved  is  a  bore.  Sally  knew  she  could  always 
deal  with  Gaga;  but  she  did  not  want  a  profusion  of 
excited  caresses  from  him.  It  was  this  realisation  that 
gave  her  a  jerk  of  dismay.  It  was  not  that  she  shrank 
from  him.  It  was  that  with  her  cold  little  brain  she 
imagined  him  in  a  fever  about  her,  fretful,  tantalised  by 
her  coolness,  rebuffed,  sulky,  ineffably  tedious  ...  As 
she  knew  all  this  her  eyes  darkened.  It  was  all  very  well 
to  play  with  Gaga ;  but  he  was  now  her  husband,  and  that 
meant  an  association  so  constant  that  in  future,  so  far 
from  tempting  him,  she  would  forever  be  engaged  in  bat- 
tles with  his  exasperating,  petty  claims  to  her  person  and 
her  attention.  He  would  not  ever  be  able  to  understand 
her  wish  to  be  alone,  or  to  be  self -engrossed.  Febrile 
himself,  he  would  be  dumfounded  at  her  reserve,  which 
he  would  take  for  hostility. 

The  knowledge  came  to  Sally  so  unexpectedly  that  she 
did  not  respond  to  Gaga's  unspoken  appeals.  The  frown 
in  her  eyes  deepened.  All  round  her  were  the  gilded  mir- 
rors of  the  Rezzonico,  and  the  general  noise  and  move- 
ment of  a  busy  restaurant.    Opposite  was  Gaga,  smiling 


CONSEQUENCES  211 

with  a  sort  of  joy  which  made  his  long  face  appear  to 
shine.  She  could  tell  that  he  was  almost  beside  himself 
with  excitement.  And  she  was  cool.  There  was  no  cur- 
rent of  understanding  between  them.  They  had  neither 
physical  nor  spiritual  rapport.  Slowly  Sally's  gaze  took 
in  all  that  was  revealed  in  Gaga's  face  and  his  nervously 
extended  hands.  Slowly  a  little  cruel  smile  played  round 
her  small  mouth.  She  had  married  him.  She  was  sure 
of  him.  But  there  was  a  price.  He  would  be  a  nuisance, 
a  futile  nuisance  to  her.  He  would  demand  kisses,  he 
would  pry,  would  watch  her,  would  fuss.  He  would  be 
a  lover  with  all  the  empty  ardour  of  the  neurotic  man. 
Sally's  heart  sank.  She  did  not  want  a  restrained  lover, 
because  she  was  young  and  high-spirited ;  but  this  singular 
trembling  possessiveness  would  soon  be  intolerable.  He 
would  be  a  nuisance.  Again  and  again  the  threat  pressed 
itself  upon  Sally's  consciousness. 

Men!  That  was  what  Sally  thought.  She  had  no  de- 
liberate mental  process.  All  her  intuitions  were  summar- 
ised in  the  one  word.  Men !  Toby  .  ,  .  Gaga !  Gravely, 
she  looked  round  the  restaurant.  There  were  fat  men 
and  thin  men,  dark  and  fair,  ugly  and  good-looking  and 
negligible.  And  as  she  looked  at  them  in  turn,  puzzled, 
Sally  shrugged  her  shoulders.  She  came  back  to  Gaga. 
She  gave  him  a  false,  alluring  smile,  secure  in  her  power 
to  excite  him  still  further;  but  her  gravity  was  constant. 
She  had  glimpsed  for  the  first  time  a  thing  which  she 
could  not  have  known  before  marriage.  It  was  that  one 
married  for  different  reasons,  but  that  one  had  to  endure 
the  disadvantages  accompanying  any  choice.  She  was 
not  afraid,  but  she  was  ruffled.  She  was  ruffled  by  that 
exulting  possessiveness  which  shone  from  Gaga.  Had 
she  loved  him,  her  joy  might  have  been  comparable  with 
his.  If  she  had  loved  him  and  he  had  seemed  not  to  de- 
sire her,  Sally's  happiness  would  have  been  undermined. 


212  COQUETTE 

But  in  her  present  coolness,  the  sense  that  Gaga  was 
personally  inescapable  was  enough  to  depress  her.  He 
would  be  a  nuisance. 

She  found  it  so  when  they  were  in  the  taxicab  on  their 
way  to  Victoria.  Her  smallness  made  her  unable  to  stem 
the  torrent  of  his  excited  caresses.  For  a  time  she  sub- 
mitted to  them,  still  entirely  serious.  Then  a  kind  of 
petulant  composure  enabled  her  to  chill  him.  Gaga 
laughed  in  a  sort  of  giggle,  holding  Sally's  hands,  and 
looking  adoringly  into  her  eyes,  and  trying  to  kiss  her. 
Instead  of  giving  him  kisses,  instead  of  wishing  him  to 
kiss  her,  Sally  found  herself  aware  already  of  a  slight 
repugnance.  As  she  looked  forward  to  spending  days 
and  nights  with  him  her  heart  sank.  She  was  not  shocked 
She  was  not  afraid.  She  knew  that  there  would  come  a 
time  when,  after  boring  her.  Gaga's  kisses  would  become 
troublesome.  And  it  was  too  late  now  to  withdraw.  She 
was  too  deeply  into  her  new  scheme  of  life.  But  this 
feverish,  insatiably  amorous,  weak  Gaga  would  get  on  her 
nerves.  So  this  was  what  marriage  might  be.  Sally's 
jaw  stiffened.  Yes,  if  she  allowed  it  to  be  so.  But  Sally 
was  Sally.  Kisses  should  presently  be  favours.  Gaga 
should  learn  his  place.  A  hardness  showed.  She  pushed 
aside  the  clinging  arms,  and  sat  erect. 

"No,"  cried  Sally,  sharply,  at  his  convulsive  motion 
of  return.  "Not  now.  We're  .  .  .  People  looking  at 
us.  .  .  ." 

She  did  not  want  to  be  hard.  She  did  not  want  to  grow 
bard  and  bitter.  She  had  seen  women  who  were  both, 
and  she  disliked  them.  But  with  Gaga  she  would  have  to 
be  hard.  Otherwise  he  would  bore  her  to  desperation.  So 
there  was  at  this  moment  no  longer  any  softness  in  Sally's 
heart  towards  Gaga.  She  resented  him.  As  they  pushed 
through  the  crowd  at  Victoria,  Sally  had  a  sudden  im- 
pulse to  run  away.    A  shudder  fled  through  her.    A  girl 


CONSEQUENCES  213 

with  less  resolute  will,  or  perhaps  of  gpreater  delicaqr, 
would  have  made  some  movement.  But  Sally  merely 
stood  with  her  head  lowered,  and  considered  the  position. 
It  was  not  his  love  that  she  minded ;  it  was  his  hysterical 
possessiveness,  the  sense  that  he  would  always  be  there 
and  claiming  convulsively  those  small  incessant  intimacies 
which  accompany  marriage.  Sally  could  not  put  her  per- 
ception into  coherent  terms;  but  she  was  assured  of  the 
fact.  Gaga  would  want  too  much,  and  that  not  in  an 
adorably  masterful  way,  but  with  exacting  and  pertina- 
cious excitement  bred  from  his  weakness  and  neurotic 
avidity.  The  domination  of  the  weak  man  would  be  a 
tyranny,  as  it  always  is.  Sally  thought :  "He'll  be  a  nui- 
sance. I  shall  want  to  do  him  in  by  the  time  we  get  back. 
Oh,  Lor!  You  done  for  yourself,  Sally,  my  gel!  You 
come  a  mucker !  Look  at  your  husband !  Look  at  him  !'* 
She  could  see  Gaga  in  the  distance,  moving  agitatedly 
about  a  porter  and  the  guard,  and  tripping  over  luggage, 
and  interrupting  other  eager  passengers,  and  stretching 
his  long  arm  over  their  shoulders  in  order  to  touch  the 
guard.  "That's  your  husband,  that  is !  Man  who's  lost 
his  head.  Man  they  all  love.  Fancy  living  with  it  for  fifty 
years!  Oh,  Lor!  A  whole  lifetime.  Three-hundred- 
and-sixty-five  days  in  the  year,  too.  All  day,  every  day  I 
Makes  you  start  thinking !"  And  she  watched  Gaga  speed- 
ing exultantly  towards  her. 

"All  right.  We've  got  a  first,"  he  panted,  quite  out  of 
breath.  "To  ourselves.  I've  tipped  the  guard.  It's  .  .  . 
it's  all  right.    Come  along.    This  way.    Come  along !" 

"Oo!"  cried  Sally,  with  archness.  "To  ourselves! 
What  a  surprise!  Strange!"  And  to  herself,  returning 
to  her  own  sober  thoughts :  "If  you  did  too  much  think- 
ing you'd  lose  the  use  of  your  legs.  And  if  girls  thought 
a  bit  before  they  got  marrying,  they'd  ,  ,  .  Funny!  I 
wonder  what  they  would  do !" 


214  COQUETTE 

11 

What  she  would  herself  have  done  Sally  had  no  time 
to  consider;  for  they  were  hurried  to  their  compartment, 
and  were  locked  in  by  the  obliging  and  amused  guard 
They  then  sat  demurely  upon  opposite  sides  of  the  car- 
riage until  the  train  began  to  move.  Every  time  anybody 
peered  in  at  the  window  Sally,  who  had  recovered  her 
good  spirits,  began  to  laugh;  and  Gaga  was  full  of  con- 
sternation. But  at  last  even  that  anxiety  was  removed, 
and  in  the  afternoon  sunlight  the  country  began  to  glow 
under  their  eyes  and  race  round  in  a  sweeping  circle  with 
an  intoxicating  effect  not  to  be  appreciated  by  those  who 
are  staled  for  railway  travelling.  Sally  allowed  Gaga 
to  embrace  her;  but  she  kept  her  face  resolutely  turned 
from  him  for  a  long  time  while  she  relished  her  new  joy 
in  rushing  thus  through  the  increasingly-beautiful  dis- 
tricts which  bordered  the  track.  It  was  only  when  Gaga 
became  expostulatory  that  she  abandoned  this  pleasure 
and  yielded  to  his  tumultuous  affection,  with  a  listlessness 
and  a  sense  of  criticism  which  was  new  to  her.  Silly  fool ; 
why  couldn't  he  sit  still  and  be  quiet!  She  belonged  to 
herself,  not  to  him.  Almost,  she  thrust  him  away  from 
her. 

They  reached  Penterby  by  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, and  were  turned  out  upon  the  platform  with  their 
two  light  bags,  like  the  stranded  wanderers  they  were. 
And  then  they  walked  out  into  the  roughly  paved  road 
leading  through  the  town  to  higher  land  behind,  and  on- 
ward, along  a  road  to  which  they  turned  their  backs,  and 
which  wavered,  past  the  railroad  station,  up  an  incline 
in  the  direction  of  the  distant  sea.  Gaga  carried  both 
bags,  and  led  the  way,  and  Sally  saw  for  the  first  time  a 
wide  street,  and  shops  and  houses  quaintly  built,  and  a 
church  spire  with  houses  below  it,  arranged  in  terraces. 


CONSEQUENCES  215 

all  warm  in  the  dying  sun.  It  was  still  summer  here,  she 
thought,  and  the  atmosphere  was  pleasant.  The  houses 
were  not  at  all  crowded,  but  stood  up  at  the  first  glance 
as  if  they  were  proud  of  great  age  and  their  height  above 
the  road  from  the  station. 

"We  going  up  there?"  demanded  Sally,  pointing  to 
the  hill,  and  the  houses  erect  upon  it. 

"No,  darling  .  .  .  See  .  .  .  that  .  .  .  that  .  .  . 
lamp." 

Sally  looked  up  at  Gaga's  face.  Oh,  if  it  had  only  been 
Toby!  The  blood  suddenly  rushed  to  her  cheeks.  Toby! 
She  wanted  Toby!  As  quickly,  she  was  chilled  by  fear. 
What  would  Toby  do  ?  What  would  he  try  to  do  ?  Yes, 
well  Toby  didn't  know  yet  that  she  was  married.  And 
she  was  married  to  Gaga,  and  she  had  done  this  thing 
with  her  eyes  open.  There  was  no  going  back.  Marriage 
was  a  thing  you  could  not  repudiate.  It  was  final.  The 
blood  flowed  away  from  Sally's  face.  She  was  cool  again 
in  an  instant.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  lamp  which 
Gaga  had  indicated,  and  upon  the  ivy  behind  it.  Upon 
a  suspended  board  she  read  in  gold  the  letters  "RIVER 
HOTEL",  and  as  she  appreciated  the  meaning  of  this 
name  Sally  observed  that  the  street  went  onward  past 
the  hotel  over  an  unmistakable  bridge. 

"Is  that  the  river?"  she  asked.  "Is  the  hotel  on  the 
river?    Where  we  stay?" 

"Yes.  You'll  see  .  .  .  You'll  like  it."  Gaga  was  en- 
treating, now  rather  frightened  by  Sally's  lack  of  response 
to  his  feverish  endearments,  already  inclined  to  suspicion 
and  sidelong  glances  of  doubt. 

"Sure  I  shall!"  cried  Sally,  perfectly  composed  once 
more.    "It's  nice.    Does  the  river  go  just  there  ?" 

Gaga  became  suddenly  very  enthusiastic.  He  motioned 
with  the  hand  in  which  both  small  bags  were  carried.  He 
began  to  walk  at  a  quicker  pace. 


216  COQUETTE 

"You  see  the  front  of  the  hotel — ^all  ...  all  Ivy.  Well, 
at  the  end  the  wall  goes  .  .  .  goes  right  down  into  the 
water.  And  there's  a  balcony  ...  all  ...  all  covered 
with  glass,  on  the  first  floor.  Our  room  opens  on  this 
balcony.    You  can  look  right  down  into  the  river. 

"Is  it  a  nice  river?" 

He  was  rather  hesitating  in  face  of  her  sharp  tone  of 
inquiry. 

"Well,  er  .  .  .  Nice  ?  It's  .  .  .  it's  a  tidal  river.  It 
flows  up  and  down.  In  ...  in  the  summer  things  get 
carried  ...  I  mean,  it's  not  .  .  .  not  very  clean.  It's 
mud." 

"Oo."  Sally's  little  nose  wrinkled.  "Does  it  smell?  I 
mean,  is  it  healthy?"  But  at  this  new  question  Gaga 
looked  very  perplexed  and  rather  unhappy,  so  that  she 
quickly  abandoned  her  curiosity  about  the  river,  knowing 
that  she  would  presently  be  able  to  satisfy  it  more  effec- 
tively by  personal  observation.  Without  further  speech 
they  came  abreast  of  the  hotel,  and  turned  in  under  the 
arched  entrance.  To  the  left  of  them  was  a  door  with  the 
legend  "COFFEE  ROOM" ;  to  the  right  another  door 
above  which  hung  a  little  sign  "HOTEL."  It  was  by 
this  right-hand  door  that  they  entered,  and  it  was  here, 
by  a  glass  enclosed  bar,  that  they  waited.  Upon  an  ex- 
tended shelf  there  was  lying  a  newspaper  which  had  come 
through  the  post  for  some  departed  visitor.  Beyond  the 
bar  Sally  noticed  decanters  and  bottles  and  upturned 
glasses.  Before  her  was  another  door,  open,  which  re- 
vealed a  table  upon  which  glasses  had  left  little  circular 
stains.  She  was  all  curiosity.  This  must  be  the  saloon- 
She  gave  a  sharp  mischievous  hunching  of  the  shoulders, 
and  hugged  Gaga's  arm.  Then,  as  a  stout  woman  came 
out  of  another  room,  she  grew  sedate,  and  stood  free 
from  her  husband  in  case  they  should  be  supposed  to  be 
upon  their  honeymoon.  / 


CONSEQUENCES  217 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Merrick." 

She  knew  him,  then.    He  was  no  stranger  here. 

"Mrs.  Tennant  .  .  .  How  .  .  .  how  d'you  do?  This 
.  .  .  I've  brought  my  wife  with  me  this  time,"  stam- 
mered Gaga  proudly.     "Sally,  this  is  Mrs.  Tennant." 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,"  announced  the  stout  woman. 
Sally  scrutinised  her.  She  had  been  pretty,  but  had  grown 
fat.  She  had  puffs  round  her  eyes,  and  swollen  lips,  and 
a  catlike  expression  of  geniality.  Behind  her  agreeable 
smile  there  was  suspicion  of  all  mankind,  suspicion  and 
wariness,  due  to  her  constant  need  of  self-control  in  the 
difficult  business  of  managing  noisy  or  cantankerous 
guests.  Sally  did  not  like  her.  "Tabby!"  she  thought 
at  once.  But  immediately  afterwards  she  knew  that  it 
would  be  worth  while  to  make  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Tennant. 
She  gave  her  little  friendly  grin,  and  saw  its  effect. 
"That's  that,"  reflected  Sally.  And  it  was  so.  Mrs.  Ten- 
nant cordially  led  the  way  up  to  the  first  floor,  talking  of 
the  weather,  and  of  the  number  of  visitors  who  were  at 
present  staying  at  the  River  Hotel. 

"Does  Mrs.  Merrick  play?"  she  asked.  "Do  you? 
We've  got  a  very  good  piano  in  the  drawing-room  .  .  . 
I'm  passionately  fond  of  music  myself.  It's  the  sorrow  of 
my  Hfe  I  can't  play." 

Sally  grimaced.  The  drawing-room  was  glimpsed — a 
room  with  settees  and  big  chairs  and  a  strident  carpet 
and  antimacassars  and  small  palms  in  pots.  Large  win- 
dows made  it  beautifully  light.  And  as  she  took  in  these 
details  Sally  hurried  on,  and  found  herself  in  a  narrow 
dun-coloured  passage,  where  brown  doors  with  numbers 
upon  them  indicated  the  bedrooms.  It  was  into  the  sec- 
ond of  these  rooms  that  she  was  led,  and  in  spite  of  the 
frowst  she  looked  with  eagerness  at  a  further  door  and 
windows  that  opened  upon  the  balcony  of  which  Gaga 
had  spoken.    The  windows  were  lace-curtained,  but  she 


218  COQUETTE 

could  see  through  the  curtains  to  what  seemed  like  a 
conservatory. 

"You  see  the  door  opens  on  to  the  balcony,"  explained 
Mrs.  Tennant,  while  Gaga  put  down  the  bags  and  wiped 
his  hands  with  his  handkerchief.  "Lx)oks  right  across  the 
river.  I'm  afraid  the  tide's  out  now;  but  when  it's  up 
you  see  all  sorts  of  things  floating  up  and  down." 

"What  sort  of  things?"  demanded  Sally,  going  to  the 
glass  sides  of  the  building  and  peering  down  at  the  mud. 

"Oh,  all  sorts.  .  .  ."  Mrs.  Tennant  was  a  little  con- 
fused, but  conversational.  "That  old  building  you  see 
across  there  is  .  .  .  well,  it  used  to  be  a  granary ;  but  no- 
body's used  it  for  a  long  time.  There's  a  dinghy  in  the 
mud  over  there.     It's  Mr.  Scuffle's  .  .  ." 

Dinghy!  Instantly  Sally's  mind  jerked  back  to  a  day 
she  had  spent  with  Toby,  when  he  had  teased  her  about 
her  ignorance  of  boats.  Toby  I  So  that  was  a  dinghy! 
Just  like  any  other  boat. 

The  balcony  was  empty;  but  trays  still  lay  upon  two 
of  the  light  iron  tables,  and  a  newspaper  had  been  tossed 
upon  the  matted  floor.  All  the  chairs  were  of  wicker,  and 
in  them  lay  little  hard  cushions  covered  with  dirtied  cre- 
tonne. Through  the  long  glass  side  one  could  see  the 
slowly-flowing  river  (for  the  tide  was  about  to  turn), 
and  the  already  dimming  sky,  and  the  houses  upon  the 
rising  ground  that  lay  beyond  the  farther  bank,  and  the 
bridge  upon  which  people  were  walking.  Sally  looked 
up  and  down  the  momentarily  sinister  river.  She  was 
afraid  of  water,  afraid  of  its  secrecy  and  its  current ;  and 
she  turned  away  from  her  contemplation  with  a  sense  of 
chill. 

"I'm  cold,"  she  said,  brightly.  "Bertram  .  .  .  Could 
we  have  some  tea,  Mrs.  Tennant?" 

"Certainly.  You'd  like  a  wash?  I'll  get  the  tea  at 
once.  .  .  ." 


CONSEQUENCES  219 

Back  in  the  room,  Sally  was  immediately  again  em- 
braced. She  did  not  now  trouble  about  Gaga;  she  was 
glad  of  his  arms  around  her,  and  his  breast  upon  which 
she  could  lay  her  head.  Married  .  .  .  river  .  .  .  mar- 
ried .  .  .  river  .  .  .  ran  her  thoughts.  And  she  turned 
away  from  Gaga  to  the  washstand,  and  poured  cold  water 
from  the  ewer  into  the  basin. 

"Let  me  alone  .  .  ."  she  laughingly  said.  "Ee  .  .  . 
get  away  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  wash." 

And  when  the  water  touched  her  face  Sally  was  alert 
once  more,  cleansed  and  freshened.  With  tea  before  her 
she  could  face  even  marriage  and  that  drearily-flowing 
river  and  the  hideous  mud,  so  thick  and  so  oozily  sinister. 

iii 

On  the  following  day  Sally,  dogged  everywhere  by 
Gaga,  was  perfectly  aware  of  her  contempt  for  him. 
Twenty-four  hours  had  been  enough  to  show  her  the  ex- 
acting and  irritating  characteristics  of  her  new  husband. 
Did  she  stir,  he  looked  up;  his  hand  was  ever  ready  for 
her  hand;  those  chocolate  eyes  were  eternally  suffused 
with  a  love  that  moved  Sally  to  impatience.  He  did  not 
even  amuse  her  by  his  calf -like  pursuit.  All  that  was 
ruthless  in  her  rose  up  and  sneered  at  his  weakness  and 
his  timid  assurance,  which  had  the  same  effect  as  one  of 
those  horrible  streamers  of  cobweb  that  catch  the  face 
as  one  walks  unwarily  along  a  dusky  lane.  Only  her 
native  resoluteness  enabled  her  to  show  Gaga  a  false  pa- 
tience. Only  her  insensitiveness  made  his  constant  caress 
endurable.  Sally  blinked  sometimes  at  his  grabbing  senti- 
mentality; but  she  already  began  to  slip  neatly  aside  and 
avoid  his  carefully-planned  contacts.  She  was  not  yet 
hard  or  perverse. 

And  while  Gaga  lay  down  In  the  afternoon,  as  she 


220  COQUETTE 

found  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing,  in  order  that  his 
physical  strength  might  last  through  the  day,  Sally  found 
the  empty  drawing-room  and  with  often-strained  ears 
began  the  difficult  task  which  she  had  set  herself.  Below 
her  was  the  thick,  powerful  current  of  the  now  sinking 
river,  laden  with  refuse  which  flowed  backwards  and  for- 
wards past  the  hotel;  and  upon  the  windows  and  casual 
brightnesses  of  the  tall  houses  on  the  hill  across  the  river 
she  could  see  the  crystal  sparkling  of  reflected  sunshine. 
She  had  a  feeling  that  all  about  Penterby  was  open  green 
country,  sometimes  flat,  but  always  in  the  distance 
crowned  and  adorned  with  hills ;  and  she  knew  the  brown 
of  the  river  and  the  mud,  and  the  green  slime  which  dec- 
orated the  wall  opposite.  It  was  unforgettable.  She  would 
always  think  of  it.  And  her  task  was  the  writing  of  a 
letter  to  Toby.  She  had  planned  to  write  to  him  upon 
this  day — ^the  first  free  day  of  her  married  life;  and  she 
was  bent  upon  keeping  to  her  plan.  He  must  be  told  at 
once,  and  yet  as  she  held  the  pen  above  a  sheet  of  plain 
paper  she  was  stunned  by  the  extraordinary  difficulty  of 
the  composition.  Only  then,  for  the  first  time,  did  she 
grasp  the  definiteness  of  the  step  she  had  taken.  She 
would  never  see  Toby  again.  Never?  Never — never — 
never.  Sally's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  A  thick,  painful  sob 
forced  its  way  through  her.     Never. 

She  began  to  write.  She  put  no  address,  but  only,  in 
her  plain  handwriting,  still  that  of  a  schoolgirl,  the  words 
"My  dear."  It  was  at  this  point  that  Sally  began  to  dis- 
card all  the  phrases  which  she  had  earlier  composed  in 
her  head.  She  considered  that  if  she  were  never  to  see 
Toby  again  it  did  not  matter  what  he  thought  of  her. 
The  bald  announcement  would  do  very  well.  It  was  best, 
and  easiest,  and  safest.  And  then  she  knew  again  that 
she  was  afraid  of  Toby,  and  of  what  he  might  do.  She 
was  a  true  woman  in  being  unable  to  face  a  conclusion. 


CONSEQUENCES  221 

She  could  not  imagine  that  she  would  never  see  him  again. 
It  was  incredible.  So  incapable  was  she  of  realising  the 
fact  of  a  complete  break  that  she  thought  herself  pos- 
sessed by  an  instinct  that  they  must  meet  and  continue  as 
before.  Sally  was  much  more  afraid  that  he  would  kill 
her.  It  was  the  reason  why  she  was  putting  no  address 
at  the  head  of  the  letter.  He  must  not  find  her  with  Gaga. 
She  wrote  at  last. 

"My  dear.  I  have  been  a  bad  wicked  girl  and  married 
another  man.  Do  not  try  to  find  me.  I  shall  be  all  right. 
Find  some  other  girl,  and  be  happy  with  her.  I  shall 
never  be  happy  without  you.  My  husband  is  very  kind 
and  good.    Don't  forget  me.'* 

At  the  end  of  this  letter  she  put  no  signature,  but  a 
single  cross  to  indicate  a  kiss.  Then  she  addressed  an 
envelope,  stamped  it,  slipped  down  the  stairs  and  along 
to  the  post  office.  By  the  time  Toby  got  the  letter  she 
and  Gaga  would  no  longer  be  there ;  and  he  would  not  be 
able  to  find  her  afterwards.  London  was  so  big.  She 
was  afraid  of  him,  and  yet  she  longed  to  see  him  again. 
Five  minutes  later  she  was  back  in  the  drawing-room, 
seated  at  the  piano,  and  singing  softly  in  her  clear  yoice 
the  song  that  had  first  so  greatly  charmed  Gaga. 

'"Your  heart  mine,  and  mine  in  your  keeping. 
List  while  I  sing  to  you  love's  tender  song.*" 

As  she  sang,  Sally  looked  up  and  at  the  doorway. 
There,  adoringly,  stood  Gaga,  all  his  love  making  a  ra- 
diance in  his  face  which  she  had  not  previously  seen  so 
distinctly.  He  came  slowly  towards  her,  and  as  she  con- 
tinued her  song  he  kissed  the  back  of  her  neck  where  the 
hair  was  brushed  up  in  the  first  soft  incalculable  wave. 


222  COQUETTE 

Sally  for  the  first  time  shranlc  a  little;  but  she  pursued 
her  song  unhesitatingly,  so  schooled  was  she  in  her  deter- 
mination that  the  price  she  was  paying  was  to  be  borne. 

"  'When  you  and  I  go  down  the  love  path  together, 
Stars  shall  be  shining  and  the  night  so  fair. ' " 

"We'll  go  ...  go  walking  in  the  moonlight  to-night 
.  .  .  shall  we?"  whispered  Gaga.  Sally  nodded,  mak- 
ing her  voice  quaver  by  the  motion.  Gaga  could  not  see 
her  face;  but  Sally  knew  that  even  if  he  had  done  so  he 
would  have  been  quite  unable  to  read  her  thoughts,  which 
were  dry  and  inflexible.  He  remained  by  her  side  until 
she  had  finished  the  song,  and  then  fiercely  pressed  her 
head  back  until  he  was  able  by  stooping  to  kiss  her  lips 
from  above.  His  hand  was  under  her  chin.  He  kissed 
her  many  times,  oppressively — little  ravenous  pecks  that 
were  febrile  rather  than  loving;  and  assertive  of  his  new 
proprietorship.  His  kisses  left  Sally  unmoved  and  slight- 
ly frowning.  She  was  surprised  at  Gaga's  simplicity  in 
imagining  that  any  girl  valued  or  could  possibly  value 
such  ceaseless  demonstrative  action,  such  ugly  hard  little 
parrot-like  caresseses. 

"Only  a  soppy  kid  would,"  she  thought.  "She'd  like  it, 
I  suppose.  Think  quantity  meant  love.  It  doesn't.  Like 
a  beak.  Silly  fool!"  And  aloud  she  said  quite  firmly: 
"There,  that's  enough.  Shan't  have  any  face  left,  at  this 
rate.    I  shall  come  out  in  spots.    What's  the  time?" 

To  soften  her  words  she  held  and  pressed  his  hand; 
but  only  for  an  instant.  Then  she  rose  abruptly  from  the 
piano  and  walked  over  to  the  window.  With  his  arm 
immediately  at  her  waist  Gaga  followed,  like  a  long,  ab- 
ject greyhound. 

"The  tide's  out,"  he  said,  indicating  the  sun  illumined 
mud  by  the  opposite  wall. 


CONSEQUENCES  223 

"Ugh!"  shuddered  Sally.  "Fancy  getting  your  feet 
in  that  stuff!  You'd  never  get  out  .  .  .  Gives  me  the 
horrors,  it  does !"    She  leaned  back  into  his  arms. 


IV 

They  left  Penterby  by  a  very  early  train  on  the  Monday 
morning,  and  while  Gaga  took  the  two  bags  to  an  hotel 
where  the  Merricks  were  to  stay  for  the  present  Sally 
went  direct  to  Madame  Gala's.  She  had  obtained  special 
permission  to  be  an  hour  late  in  the  morning,  and  so  she 
entered  the  workroom  without  confusion.  It  was  the 
same  as  it  had  always  been — the  long  benches,  and  the 
girls,  and  Miss  Summers  sitting  apart,  as  plump  and 
feline  as  ever.  There  was,  of  course,  curiosity  about 
Sally.  Few  of  the  girls  supposed  that  she  had  been  away 
with  a  girl  friend,  which  had  been  the  story;  and  all 
looked  at  her  with  a  knowing  suspicion.  Only  Miss  Sum- 
mers was  completely  trusting.  Sally  had  slipped  off  her 
wedding-ring,  and  it  lay  in  her  purse.  She  took  in  the 
whole  scene  as  she  entered,  and  measured  the  assumptions 
of  the  girls  with  cool  indifference.  But  she  would  have 
done  that  in  any  case;  for  Sally  had  nothing  to  learn 
about  workgirls  and  their  thoughts  and  interpretations, 
and  she  had  also  none  of  the  false  self -consciousness 
which  makes  wrong-doers  imagine  that  their  actions  have 
been  providentially  revealed  to  all  observers.  Had  she 
and  Gaga  arrived  together  the  case  would  have  been  dif- 
ferent; but  nothing  had  occurred  to  make  the  girls  sup- 
pose that  there  was  any  relation  between  them,  and  Sally 
was  perfectly  safe  from  that  most  dangerous  of  all  recog- 
nitions. She  was  still,  to  the  girls,  Sally  Minto;  and  to 
some  of  them  still  the  white-faced  cocket  of  Rose  Anstey's 
jealous  outburst.  Sally  looked  boldly  at  Rose  as  she  sat 
industriously  working.     Then,  with  greater  stealth,  at 


224  COQUETTE 

Miss  Summers.  That  plump  face  had  a  solemnly  pre- 
occupied expression  that  gave  Sally  a  faint  start  of  doubt 
Immediately,  however,  she  knew  that  Miss  Summers 
must  be  worried,  not  upon  Sally's  account,  but  on  account 
of  some  message  respecting  Madam  which  had  been  re- 
ceived earlier  in  the  morning.  This  made  her  seize  an 
excuse  to  approach  Miss  Summers. 

"How's  Madam  ?"  she  whispered,  surreptitiously. 

Miss  Summers  shook  her  head  with  foreboding. 

"Still  the  same.  No  better;  no  worse.  Sally,  I'm 
afraid!* 

Sally  looked  down  at  Miss  Simimers.  How  strangely 
their  relation  had  been  altered  by  this  weekend's  doings! 
Wherever  Sally  glanced  she  knew  that  what  she  saw 
was  now  potentially  her  own.  By  the  simple  act  of 
marrying  Gaga  she  had  become,  as  it  were,  mistress  of 
the  place.  And  she  knew  it.  She  knew  it  plainly  and 
without  swollen  conceitedness.  Not  yet  was  her  power 
unquestionable ;  but  it  was  none  the  less  genuine.  Even 
Miss  Summers  .  .  . 

*'I  hope  she  gets  better,"  said  Sally. 

Miss  Summers  shot  a  quick  glance  upwards.  She  start- 
ed, and  a  faint  redness  came  into  her  plump  cheeks.  The 
tip  of  her  nose  was  irritated,  and  she  rubbed  it  with  her 
knuckle. 

"Oh,  I  do  hope  so,"  breathed  Miss  Summers.  *Tt 
would  be  awful — awful  for  all  of  us — if  she  didn't  You 
see  ..." 

"She'll  have  to  die  some  time,"  remarked  Sally. 

"But  now !"  The  head  was  shaken  afresh.  Miss  Sum- 
mers gave  a  heavy  sigh.  She  had  no  such  youthful  con- 
fidence as  Sally's.  She  was  a  born  follower,  a  bom  sheep ; 
and  with  Madam  removed  she  could  see  nothing  ahead 
but  disaster  to  the  business.  Sally  had  a  little  difficulty  in 
keeping  back  her  smile.     She  thought  of  this  poor  old 


CONSEQUENCES  225 

pussycat  in  fear  of  her  life,  and  her  lip  slightly  curled 
at  the  knowledge  that  she  alone  had  superior  knowledge 
of  the  situation.  Already  Sally  was  casting  round  for 
channels  in  which  her  new  power  might  be  used.  She 
wanted  opportunity.  It  was  both  a  chagrin  and  a  secret 
relief  to  her  that  Madam  could  not  yet  be  told  of  the 
marriage.  If  she  knew  it,  and  disapproved,  as  Sally  knew 
that  she  must  do,  Madam  could  at  any  moment  annul 
Sally's  hopes  of  taking  a  leading  part  in  the  business. 
She  could  alter  her  will.  Therefore,  if  she  lived,  she 
must  be  kept  ignorant.  It  would  be  a  trouble.  And  yet 
in  spite  of  her  assurance  Sally  was  still  suspicious  of  her 
own  ability  to  master  every  detail  in  time  to  carry  on  the 
whole  establishment  without  a  great  lapse  into  momentary 
failure.  She  planned  as  a  middle-aged  woman.  At  eigh- 
teen her  plans  were  profound.  But  instinctively,  and  in 
spite  of  colossal  conceit,  she  understood  that  eighteen  was 
not  an  age  at  which  control  can  successfully  be  taken  of 
a  large  business.  Therefore  she  was  fighting  against  un- 
acknowledged fear. 

During  that  day  she  hardly  saw  Gaga  at  all.  He  was 
at  home  with  his  mother,  and  did  not  come  to  business 
until  the  afternoon.  Only  in  the  evening  did  she  creep 
into  his  room  and  submit  to  his  endearments.  She  then 
left,  and  went  to  the  hotel  at  which  for  the  present  they 
were  to  stay ;  and  here,  in  the  little  sitting-room  attached 
to  their  bedroom,  she  was  for  the  first  time  able  to  be 
alone  for  half-an-hour  with  her  post-nuptial  reflections. 
They  were  not  all  pleasant,  and  they  called  for  the  exer- 
cise of  her  natural  resoluteness.  She  had  comfort,  and 
the  knowledge  that  she  need  never  again  trouble  about 
food  and  clothing.  But  she  also  knew  that  a  husband  is 
a  different  sort  of  person  from  a  lover.  He  seemed  to 
her  to  be  a  sort  of  omnipresent  nuisance.  Her  trouble  was 
that  thoughts  and  ambitions  were  in  conflict  with  Gaga's 


226  COQUETTE 

amorousness.  He  could  never  understand  her.  He  could 
understand  her  no  better  than  Toby,  and  as  she  had  no 
use  for  him  otherwise  than  as  the  instrument  of  her  am- 
bition, she  was  already,  within  two  days  of  marriage, 
bored  with  him.  Sally  awaited  Gaga's  arrival  with  calm 
unwillingness.  She  did  not  realise  how  rapid  would  be 
her  instinctive  progress  to  repugnance;  but  she  had  no 
illusions  about  her  marriage. 

At  last  Gaga  arrived,  his  own  eagerness  unabated,  but 
he  was  still  shaken  by  the  fact  that  his  mother  was  se- 
riously ill.  With  Sally  in  his  arms  he  whispered  or  mur- 
mured alternately  professions  of  love  and  anxiety.  She 
was  all  the  time  secretly  astonished  at  his  devotion  to 
Madam,  because  it  corresponded  to  nothing  in  her  own 
nature;  but  she  comforted  Gaga  because  it  was  her  im- 
pulse to  do  so.  She  did  not  dislike  him  in  this  mood. 
She  felt  pity  for  him.  It  was  only  for  his  tremulous  per- 
sistency in  caress  that  Sally  felt  contempt.  Gradually  she 
began  to  be  able  to  divert  his  mind  to  other  matters — to 
their  own  future,  and  the  flat  they  were  to  take  and  to 
furnish ;  and  to  the  plans  they  must  make  for  a  slow 
change  of  her  position  in  the  business.  Already  Sally 
was  obtaining  a  grasp  of  the  details,  but  she  could  go 
little  further  until  her  access  to  the  books  and  accounts 
was  free.  She  could  do  nothing  until  some  scheme  had 
been  made.  So  the  two  sat  together  after  dinner  and  dis- 
cussed what  they  were  to  do,  and  where  they  were  to  live, 
and  how  the  rooms  of  the  flat  were  to  be  furnished.  It 
was  all,  upon  Sally's  side,  practical  and  clear;  and  for 
Gaga  a  wonderful  revelation  of  Sally's  wisdom.  He  be- 
came more  and  more  infatuated,  as  Sally  became  more 
and  more  cool.  And  they  talked  the  whole  evening 
through,  without  realising  that  with  each  moment  Sally's 
dominion  was  more  firmly  established. 

It  was  only  towards  the  end  of  the  evening  that  Gaga, 


CONSEQUENCES  227 

unhinged  by  excitement,  became  desperately  pale,  and 
confessed  to  a  headache.  He  found  his  customary  drugs, 
and  took  them.  But  to  Sally  this  headache  was  a  new  and 
emphatic  indication  of  Gaga's  troublesome  temperament. 
Ugliness  and  squalor  she  knew;  but  sickliness  w^as  new 
to  her.  In  face  of  a  groaning  and  prostrate  man,  she 
turned  away.  Her  heart  sank  a  little.  Then,  with  a 
shrug,  she  turned  to  the  advertisements  of  flats  to  let  in 
London  which  she  found  in  various  newspapers;  and 
made  notes  of  the  addresses  of  house  agents.  This  occu- 
pation she  continued  until  Gaga  called  almost  fretfully 
from  the  next  room,  when  she  turned  off  the  electric  light 
and  joined  him.  An  hour  later,  while  Gaga  still  lay  star- 
ing into  the  darkness,  Sally  was  fast  asleep.  She  had 
no  dreams.  For  the  present  she  was  occupied  with  facts 
alone ;  and  she  did  not  suspect  that  she  was  unhappy,  be- 
cause she  had  been  absorbing  too  many  details  to  be  able 
to  reflect  upon  the  sinking  of  her  heart  and  its  meaning. 


The  next  evening  Sally  went  to  see  her  mother.  Her 
first  object  was  to  get  Mrs.  Minto  away  from  the  room 
in  which  they  had  lived;  because  it  was  essential  that  if 
Toby  came  back,  as  she  believed  he  could  not  do  for  some 
days,  he  should  be  unable  to  trace  Sally  or  her  mother. 
It  was  for  fear  of  Toby  that  the  removal  was  to  be  made. 
Once  get  Mrs.  Minto  away,  to  some  other  part  of  North 
London,  and  Toby  might  seek  news  of  Sally  in  vain.  Only 
if  he  came  and  waited  outside  Madam's  would  he  be  able 
to  find  her ;  and  in  that  case  she  could  still  baulk  him,  as 
she  was  going  to  stay  late  every  evening  for  the  future 
in  order  to  work  with  Gaga.  But  first  of  all,  Sally  must 
arrange  to  get  her  mother  out  of  the  old  house.  She 
would  not  want  to  go.    She  must  go.    She  would  pretend 


228  COQUETTE 

that  she  could  keep  herself.  She  would  show  the  stub- 
born pride  of  many  old  people  of  the  working  class,  who 
will  work  until  they  kill  themselves  rather  than  accept 
charitable  doles.  Very  well,  Sally  knew  that  Mrs.  Minto 
could  not  keep  herself ;  and  she  knew  also  that  these  same 
old  people  have  no  similar  delicacy  in  taking  from  their 
children's  earnings.  She  was  going  to  explain  that  she 
was  still  working,  and  that  what  Mrs.  Minto  would  re- 
ceive came  from  Sally  herself,  and  not  from  Sally's  hus- 
band. And  she  would  herself  find  a  room  for  her  mother 
in  Stoke  Newington,  a  suburb  which  is  farther  from 
Holloway  than  many  more  distant  places  for  the  reason 
that  no  dweller  in  Holloway  has  any  curiosity  about  Stoke 
Newington  or  any  impulse  to  go  there  as  an  adventure. 

Sally  found  Mrs.  Minto  in  a  familiar  attitude,  stoop- 
ing over  a  very  small  fire;  but  as  she  ran  up  the  stairs 
very  softly,  with  a  nervous  dread  of  Toby,  she  had  no 
conception  of  the  welcome  which  awaited  her.  She  opened 
the  door  and  went  into  the  dingy  room,  and  stood  smiling ; 
and  to  her  great  surprise  she  saw  her  mother  rise  almost 
wildly  and  come  towards  her.  Two  thin  arms  pressed 
and  fondled  her,  and  a  thin  old  cheek  was  pressed  hard 
against  her  own.  To  herself  Mrs.  Minto  was  ejaculating 
in  a  shivering  way:  "My  baby,  my  baby!"  Only  then 
did  Sally  understand  how  much  the  separation  had  meant 
to  her  mother.  She  herself  had  never  once  thought  of 
that  lonely  figure  at  home. 

"Poor  old  thing!"  Sally  found  herself  saying.  "Was 
she  lonely  then?"  She  patted  her  mother's  bony  shoulders, 
and  hugged  her,  affected  by  this  involuntary  betrayal  of 
love.  Mrs.  Minto  had  never  been  demonstrative.  "I 
wish  I'd  brought  you  something,  now.  A  present.  I 
never  thought  of  it.'* 

"Is  it  all  right?  Are  you  happy,  my  dearie?"  demand- 
ed Mrs.  Minto,  with  a  searching  glance. 


CONSEQUENCES  229 

"I  knew  what  I  was  doing,  ma,"  proclaimed  Sally. 
"There's  not  much  I  don't  know." 

It  was  an  evasion;  a  confession  of  something  quite 
other  than  the  happiness  about  which  she  had  been  asked. 

"Ah,  that's  what  I  was  afraid  of  .  .  ."  breathed  her 
mother.  "That's  what  young  people  always  think.  You 
don't  know  nothing  at  all,  Sally." 

"I  know  more'n  you  do !"    It  was  a  defiance. 

"You  think  you  do.  Why,  you're  only  a  baby.  .  .  ." 
Mrs.  Minto  shook  her  head  several  times,  with  lugubrious 
effect.  But  her  last  words  had  been  full  of  a  smothered 
affection,  more  truly  precious  than  a  hundred  of  Gaga's 
kisses  or  a  dozen  of  Toby's  animal  hugs. 

"In  your  days  I  should  have  been."  Sally  withdrew 
herself,  and  led  her  mother  back  to  her  chair.  "Not 
know!  Why,  the  girls  know  a  lot  more  now  than  they 
used  to  when  you  was  a  girl.  No  more  timid  little  crea- 
tures." 

"They  only  think  they  know  more,"  declared  Mrs. 
Minto,  trembling.  "And  it  takes  'em  longer  to  find  out 
they  don't  know  nothing  at  all.  It  takes  a  lot  of  time  to 
get  to  know.  You're  in  too  much  of  a  hurry,  my  gel. 
You  don't  know  nothing.  Nothing  whatever,  for  all  your 
talk  of  it.  I  been  thinking  about  it  all  these  days — fran- 
tic, I've  been." 

"All  these  years'!"  jeered  Sally.  **Look  here,  ma.  .  .  . 
Here's  my  marriage  license !"  And  as  she  spoke  she  waved 
the  folded  paper  before  her  mother's  eyes  in  such  a  way 
that  it  fell  open  and  showed  the  official  entries.  Even 
as  she  did  this  so  lightly,  Sally  was  able  to  catch  the 
sharply  hidden  expression  of  relief  which  crossed  Mrs. 
Minto's  face  at  the  reassurance.  She  made  no  pretence 
of  misunderstanding.  "Say  I  don't  know  anything?" 
she  demanded.  "Think  I  don't  know  enough  for  that? 
Silly  old  fool?     What  did  I  tell  you?     There's  about 


230  COQUETTE 

twenty  million  things  I  know  that  you  don't  know.  And 
never  mill  know,  what's  more.  Wake  up !  I  tell  you  one 
thing,  ma.  The  people  who  don't  know  think  a  lot  worse 
than  the  people  who  do.  They  fancy  more.  See  ?  It's 
a  little  way  they  got.  All  goes  on  inside  their  heads,  and 
shakes  about.  People  like  me  haven't  got  time  to  think 
a  lot  of  muck.  We  do  things  .  .  .  and  do  them  thor- 
ough." 

Mrs.  Minto,  reproved,  sank  into  contemplation. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  Sally,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause. 
**You  talk  a  lot.  I'd  rather  think  than  talk.  You  say 
he's  rich.    Sometimes  girls  get  left." 

"Not  me,  though,"  Sally  assured  her.  "Soppy  ones 
do.  I'm  not  soppy.  And  I'll  tell  you  what.  I'm  going 
to  get  you  out  of  this  place." 

"I  ain't  going  to  live  with  you  and  him  1"  declared  Mrs» 
Minto  in  alarm.    "I  wouldn't !" 

"No.  You're  going  to  live  somewhere  else.  I  want 
you  to  get  away  from  here.  You're  going  to  have  two 
decent  rooms  ...  in  Stoke  Newington.  Real  paper  on 
the  walls,  and  a  carpet,  and  new  mattress  that  isn't  like 
two  horse  troughs." 

"I  won't  take  nothing  from  him,'* 

"No.    From  me.    Out  of  my  wages.'* 

"You  ain't  going  to  have  .  .  .  Don't  be  silly.  I'm 
well  off  where  I  am." 

"I'm  going  to  keep  on  at  Madam's.  I'm  going  to  have 
plenty  money.  And  you're  going  to  move.  Got  it  ?  I'll 
see  about  it  to-morrow  night,  get  you  in  Thursday  or 
Friday,  Won't  take  an  hour  to  settle  you  in.  Then 
you'll  be  comfortable." 

"I'm  very  well  as  I  am,"  said  Mrs.  Minto,  obstinately. 
"I  can  keep  myself.  rnT  not  going  to  sponge  on  you. 
Not  hkely." 

"You'll  move  Thursday  or  Friday,  I  tell  you.'* 


CONSEQUENCES  231 

It  was  final.  The  poor  thin  little  old  woman  had  no 
fight  in  her.  She  looked  up  at  Sally,  and  her  face  was  the 
anxious  face  of  a  monkey,  or  of  a  sick  beast  that  is  being 
tended.  Now  that  she  had  been  comforted  about  Sally 
she  had  nothing  left  to  say.  She  made  a  last  feeble  ef- 
fort. 

"I  don't  want  to  move.    Mrs,  Robcrson  .  .  ." 

"Fiddlesticks!" 

"My  'ead!" 

"Your  head'll  get  better  if  you  keep  quiet  and  have  real 
coal  and  a  bath  or  two."  Sally  was  imperious,  and  en- 
joyingly  so.  Her  spirits  had  risen.  She  was  a  general. 
She  looked  down  protectingly  at  her  mother,  and  a  ghost 
of  ancient  love  rose  breathing  in  her  heart.  "Silly  old 
thing !"  she  murmured,  with  a  touch  of  softness ;  and  knelt 
suddenly.  "Got  to  look  after  you  a  bit,"  she  added.  "It's 
you  who's  the  baby  now.  What  a  lot  of  kids  people  are ! 
Makes  me  feel  a  hundred — and  over — when  I  see  what 
fools  they  are.  I'm  sorry  for  you,  and  that's  the  truth. 
You  and  Miss  Summers  and  Gaga." 

"Who's  Gaga?" 

"He's  Mr.  Sally  Minto,"  said  Sally  with  mystic  inso- 
lence. "That's  who  Gaga  is.  He  calls  himself  my  hus- 
band, but  he's  no  more  my  husband  than  you  are,  ma. 
And  never  will  be.  But  oh,  Lor!  He's  going  to  be  the 
worry  of  my  life!  Ma,  did  Pa  chase  you  all  over  the 
place  when  you  was  married  ?  I  mean,  chase  you  all  about 
trying  to  kiss  you  and  fuss  you?" 

"No,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Minto.  "He  was  drunk.  He 
didn't  know  what  he  was  doing." 

"Hn."  Sally  grunted.  Then  she  stood  up  again.  "I'm 
going  now,"  she  announced.  "I'm  going  back  to  Gaga. 
He's  ill.    I  expect  he's  being  sick." 

And  before  her  mother  could  make  startled  enquiries, 
Sally  had  kissed  her  and  gone  to  the  door.    She  ran  in 


232  COQUETTE 

high  spirits  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  front  door, 
not  laughing,  but  in  a  curious  way  moved  by  this  conver- 
sation and  the  strange  turn  which  it  had  taken.  She 
slammed  the  door  after  her,  and  met  with  a  sudden  squall 
of  wind.  And  as  she  went  away  from  the  house  she  was 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  relief.  She  had  escaped  from 
it,  and  her  heart  was  beating  rather  fast.  All  the  time, 
under  her  speech  and  her  thoughts,  she  had  unconscious- 
ly been  listening  for  Toby's  step  upon  the  stair.  Even 
now,  she  knew  that  her  shoulders  were  contracted  with, 
apprehensiveness. 

She  hurried  along  in  the  direction  of  Holloway  Road, 
still  flinching,  with  her  nerves  uncommonly  strained.  It 
was  such  an  odd  feeling  that  she  had  in  thus  revisiting  her 
ugly  old  home.  She  had  noticed  it  all  afresh — the  tired 
linoleum,  and  the  oil  stove  and  the  tiny  fire  made  from 
coal  blocks,  and  the  stupid  old  bed  and  the  browned  wall- 
paper— and  she  felt  that  it  all  belonged  to  a  time  when 
she  had  been  a  different  girl  altogether.  She  had  never 
before  been  away  from  home,  without  her  mother,  for  so 
long.  She  had  never  once  been  away  from  this  room  for  a 
night,  until  her  marriage.  And  to  come  thus  into  the  dark 
street,  in  a  wind,  with  the  door  slamming  behind  her, 
took  Sally's  memories  uncontrollably  back  to  the  days 
which  followed  their  first  arrival,  the  days  when  she  had 
met  Toby  and  talked  to  him  and  walked  with  him  about 
the  streets.  She  recalled  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Perce,  and  the 
sight  of  that  grim  figure  relentlessly  waiting  for  her  out- 
side the  Stores ;  and  the  struggle  with  Toby,  and  her  re- 
sultant happiness ;  and  the  night  when  he  had  first  come 
to  the  room  while  her  mother  lay  in  the  hospital.  Heigho ! 
She  had  been  young  in  those  days;  now  she  felt  an  old 
woman,  with  all  the  sense  of  ageless  age  which  the  young 
feel  after  a  transition  from  one  kind  of  life  to  another. 
She  was  in  a  sense  disillusioned.    She  had  taken  her  step, 


CONSEQUENCES  233 

and  cut  the  link  that  bound  her  to  this  neighbourhood 
and  the  starveling  room.  She  had  cut  the  link  that 
bound  her  to  Toby.  And  he  was  now  swiftly  back  in  her 
consciousness,  in  her  heart;  so  that  she  knew  she  would 
never  forget  him  because  he  was  the  first  man  she  had 
loved,  and  thus  forever  her  idea  of  a  lover.  So  strong 
was  her  emotion  that  she  felt  a  strange  little  dryness  in 
her  throat  and  her  burning  eyes,  and  fancied  she  heard 
his  voice.  It  was  as  though  two  years  had  been  taken 
away,  as  though  she  once  again — as  she  done  two  years 
ago — longed  and  feared  to  meet  Toby. 

As  Sally,  with  her  head  bent  and  her  thoughts  active, 
pressed  onward,  she  heard  the  clanging  bell  of  a  passing 
tramcar,  and  saw  its  brilliant  lights  rush  by  along  the 
Holloway  Road.  A  cart  rattled  on  the  rough  stones  of 
the  road,  and  the  wind  blew  the  leaves  of  the  bushes  in 
the  gardens  she  passed.  And  as  she  shivered  a  little  at 
the  wind's  onset  she  again  imagined  that  she  heard  Toby's 
voice,  and  inevitably  turned  in  the  direction  from  which 
the  sound  had  appeared  to  reach  her.  Everything  was 
quite  dark ;  but  there  was  a  blackness  just  behind  her  that 
was  like  the  figure  of  a  man.  It  took  shape;  it  came 
nearer  and  nearer.  Sally's  heart  stopped  beating,  and  she 
shrank  back  against  the  railing  of  one  of  the  houses.  She 
felt  a  deadly  sickness  upon  her,  a  dreadful  horror. 

"Sally!" 

It  was  Toby.  He  was  abreast,  inescapable.  He  loomed 
over  her  like  a  figure  of  vengeance.  Her  heart  was  like 
water.    She  was  hysterically  afraid. 

vi 

"Hallo,  Sally !"  Toby  was  by  her  side,  and  his  arms 
rotmd  her,  and  his  kisses  on  her  cheek.  "Why,  aren't  you 
going  to  kiss  me?" 


234  COQUETTE 

Sally's  eyes  opened  wide  at  his  tone  of  innocent  sur- 
prise. She  suffered  him  to  kiss  her  lips.  Toby  had  not 
received  her  letter!  He  was  on  leave,  and  .  .  .  She 
gasped.  An  indescribable  relief  caused  her  to  rest  limply 
and  unprotestingly  in  his  arms.  Once  again  they  were 
engulfed  in  merciful  darkness,  hidden  from  each  other 
and  from  anybody  who  might  happen  to  pass.  She  could 
not  think  at  all;  but  she  was  thankful  at  this  reprieve. 
Not  yet  would  he  kill  her.  And  as  they  stood  embraced 
she  was  suddenly  happy,  with  a  passion  that  astonished 
her.  Toby — Toby,  her  love;  and  she  herself  in  his  arms 
again,  as  she  had  never  thought  to  be.  A  strange  laugh, 
low  and  tender,  came  from  her  lips.  Her  cheek  was 
gently  rubbed  against  his,  and  her  body  quite  relaxed. 
Every  one  of  Sally's  difficulties  suffered  an  oblivion;  they 
were  all  dispersed  in  the  extraordinary  mist  of  sensation 
which  enwrapped  her. 

"I  was  surprised,"  she  murmured,  kissing  him  with  all 
her  heart.  "Didn't  expect  to  see  you.  Funny  to  see 
you  ...  so  funny  .  .  .  and  when  I  was  thinking  of 
you.    I  must  have  known  you  were  coming." 

"I  just  got  in,"  Toby  said.  *T  say,  where  you  going, 
Sal?" 

Sally  flinched  again.  Immediately  she  was  conscious 
of  terror. 

"Stoke  Newington,"  she  cried;  in  a  flash.  What  was 
she  to  do?  What  was  she  to  do?  She  was  desperate. 
Fear  was  strong ;  but  love  was  stronger.  It  was  not  only 
now  that  she  did  not  dare  to  tell  him  the  truth  in  case 
he  killed  her ;  much  more  than  that  was  her  understanding 
of  the  fact  that  she  could  not  bear  to  lose  him.  Such  a 
gust  of  thankfulness  had  shaken  Sally  when  she  knew 
that  Toby  had  not  received  her  letter  that  she  was  brim- 
ming now  with  joy.  It  was  impossible  to  lose  her  rapture 
at  the  moment  of  its  full  glory.    She  could  not  tell  him. 


CONSEQUENCES  235 

"Stoke  Newington?  Whatever  for?  Here,  wait  till 
I've  had  some  grub.  .  .  .  No,  I'll  come  with  you  now. 
Get  some  grub  later.    Have  you  got  to  go  there  now?" 

"You  musn't  come,  Toby." 

"Why  not?"  He  was  instantly  suspicious.  His  g^ip 
tightened,  and  he  forced  her  to  look  at  him. 

"Didn't  you  get  my  letter?" 

"When  ?  Now  ?  I've  had  no  letter.  What  you  going 
to  Stoke  Newington  for  ?  No,  I  want  to  know.  You  go- 
ing to  meet  another  chap?  I  believe  you  are,  you  little 
devil!  By  Christ!  If  you  ...  I  mill  come!"  Toby 
was  now  fiercely  suspicious.  She  could  tell  from  his  fe- 
rocious grip,  and  the  urgency  of  his  tone.  "If  you're 
playing  that  game,  I'll  kill  you.    By  Christ,  I  will !" 

"I'm  not.  I'm  not,"  cried  Sally.  "You're  hurting  me, 
Toby!" 

"You  swear  it?"  He  relaxed  his  hold,  which  was 
strangling  her.  In  the  darkness  he  again  strove  to  see 
her  expression  and  judge  for  himself  of  her  honesty. 

"I'm  not  going  to  see  anybody.    I  swear  I'm  not." 

"Why  did  you  ask  if  I'd  had  your  letter?  What  you 
bin  writing  to  me?" 

"Oo,  a  lot  of  lies  .  .  ."  breathed  Sally.  "Silly  talk  and 
rubbish.    That's  all  it  was." 

"What  about?"  He  was  still  intense.  Sally  could  hard- 
ly breathe,  and  her  courage  was  fading.  They  were  so 
much  in  the  darkness  that  they  could  not  be  seen,  and 
she  was  entirely  dominated  by  Toby's  physical  strength. 
Within  his  grasp  she  was  helpless,  and  not  all  her  dart- 
ingly-imagined  expedients  would  be  enough  to  secure  her 
escape.    Hastily  she  improvised  a  story. 

"Well,  I'm  not  living  with  ma  any  longer.  I  gone  out 
to  live  in,"  she  lied. 

"Stoke  Newington?" 

"No." 


236  COQUETTE 

"Lost  your  job?" 

"No." 

He  was  baffled !  but  he  knew  that  something  was  amiss. 
Sally  could  feel  him  drawing  deep  breaths.  In  the  shad- 
ow she  could  imagine  that  his  jaw  was  firmly  set.  It 
was  strange  to  feel  so  happy  in  his  arms,  so  afraid  of 
death,  so  frustrate  in  the  composition  of  any  tale  by  which 
she  could  free  herself  and  thus  gain  time  to  make  some 
fresh  plan.  Sally  had  never  been  in  a  comparable  quand- 
ary. 

"Where  you  living?"  he  next  demanded. 

"Don't  be  rough.  You're  hurting.  Well,  I'm  living 
...  I  forget  the  address.  Only  went  there  last  night. 
I'm  with  a  friend." 

"What  sort  of  a  friend?    A  girl?    What's  her  name?" 

"Miss  Summers." 

Toby  considered.  He  had  heard  that  name,  Sally  knew, 
and  must  remember  it.  She  felt  that  at  last  she  had 
stumbled  upon  something  which  would  seem  to  him  prob- 
able enough  to  allay  immediate  suspicion. 

"She's  your  forewoman  or  something,  isn't  she?"  he 
demanded. 

"Yes.  She's  very  kind.  She's  ever  so  nice."  Sally 
prayed  that  he  might  believe  her.  There  was  a  long  pause 
of  doubt,  during  which  hysteria,  rising,  nearly  provoked 
a  frantic  struggle  for  freedom  and  flight.  But  she  re- 
membered a  former  occasion,  and  her  knees  were  weak 
at  the  foreknowledge  of  failure.  He  would  not  be  merci- 
ful.   She  feared  him  and  adored  him. 

"Well,"  Toby  said  at  last,  in  a  grumble;  "when  do  I 
see  you  ?  Eh  ?"  Thank  God,  his  voice  had  changed.  He 
had  spoken  slowly  and  in  acceptance  of  the  tale.  Sally 
conquered  a  sob  that  would  have  betrayed  her.  Toby  had 
been  tricked.  There  was  still  a  chance  that  she  might 
be  able  to  manage  him  for  the  present. 


CONSEQUENCES  28T 

Sally  thought  for  a  moment,  but  in  a  distracted  blur. 
All  her  plans,  made  upon  the  assumption  that  he  would  be 
at  sea  for  at  least  a  week  longer,  had  miscarried.  There 
was  now  no  sense  in  moving  her  mother  hurriedly  and 
secretly,  Toby,  in  the  room  above,  would  be  aware  of 
everything.  She  must  arrange  this  differently.  It  would 
need  a  careful  scheme.  When  would  Toby  receive  his 
letter?  Probably  it  would  not  be  forwarded  at  all,  but 
would  be  kept  at  the  offices  of  the  shipping  company. 
That  was  what  had  happened  once  or  twice  before.  He 
would  be  at  home  a  week.  She  had  a  week.  How  tired 
she  was !  She  must  get  away  now,  and  have  a  chance  to 
think;  but  she  must  see  Toby  again.     She  must. 

"To-morrow,"  Sally  gasped.  "To-morrow  night.  Eight 
o'clock.  Marble  Arch.  Eight  o'clock,  or  a  bit  after,  1 
might  be  kept  a  little  late." 

To  her  inexpressable  thankfulness,  Toby  rather  grum- 
blingly  agreed. 

"We'll  go  to  the  pictures,"  he  said.  "There's  a  picture 
house  there." 

"Wherever  you  like.    Toby,  I  must  go." 

They  kissed  long  and  passionately ;  and  when  Sally  was 
alone,  sitting  in  the  tramcar  on  its  way  to  Holbom,  she 
found  that  she  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  She 
was  in  consternation,  and  prevented  from  crying  only  by 
the  steadily  inquisitive  stare  of  a  stout  woman  opposite. 
Sally  had  never  been  so  afraid,  so  distraught.  She  had 
never  been  in  such  a  bewildering  and  terrifying  difficulty. 
She  was  only  half  conscious. 

Vll 

And  when  she  reached  the  hotel  their  sitting-room  was 
in  darkness.  Gaga  had  evidently  been  home,  for  the 
evening  paper  had  been  thrown  upon  the  floor,  and  his 


238  COQUETTE 

hat  and  coat  were  upon  one  of  the  chairs.  Sally  remem- 
bered what  she  had  told  her  mother,  and  went  quickly 
to  the  bedroom  door.  It  was  true.  Gaga  lay  groaning 
in  bed,  and  there  was  a  faint  smell  of  sickness  in  the  air. 
Sally  instinctively  recoiled,  and  went  back  into  the  sit- 
ting-room. Her  hands  came  together  and  jerked  in  a 
gesture  of  despair.  Everything  was  against  her.  The 
white  face  was  whiter ;  the  mischievous  eyes  were  sombre. 
She  was  a  lonely  and  frightened  child  without  any  sup- 
port in  her  life.  She  was  too  young,  in  spite  of  her  vi- 
vacity, to  endure  such  trials  unbroken ;  and  in  this  situa- 
tion she  was  overwhelmed. 

With  her  hands  to  her  mouth,  Sally  stumbled  to  the 
hearthrug,  and  bowed  her  head  against  the  arm  of  a  chair. 
Painful  sobs  shook  her  body. 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  was  dead!  I  wish  I  was  dead!"  she 
wailed. 

In  that  moment  of  lost  hope  she  was  faced  only  with 
the  impossibility  of  dealing  with  all  her  trials.  She  had 
been  over-excited,  and  she  was  desperate.  Everything 
had  gone  wrong.  She  was  thus  early  face  to  face  with 
the  consequences  of  her  own  blithe  and  over-confident 
actions ;  and  the  consequences  threatened  disaster.  Death 
would  really  at  this  moment  have  seemed  better  than  the 
effort  she  must  make  to  grapple  with  her  problems.  It 
would  have  been  so  much  easier,  and  she  was  without 
courage.  Afraid  lest  her  sobs  might  arouse  Gaga  and 
bring  him  groaning  to  her  side,  she  stifled  them.  But 
they  made  her  body  heave  for  a  long  time,  until  at  last 
with  tear-filled  eyes  she  stared  at  the  fire,  and  knew  that 
the  fit  was  over. 

What  was  SaUy  to  do?  There  was  the  fatal  letter  al- 
ready waiting  somewhere  for  Toby,  or  on  its  way  to  him. 
The  thought  of  it  made  her  body  feel  as  though  it  were 
covered  with  prickles.  She  could  not  keep  still,  but  started 


CONSEQUENCES  289 

to  her  feet  and  took  several  paces,  her  hand  to  her  cheek, 
as  she  remained  deep  in  disturbed  thought.  If  she  saw 
Toby  the  next  night,  and  was  again  afraid  to  tell  him  of 
her  marriage,  what  would  become  of  her?  Sooner  or  later 
he  was  bound  to  know.  The  letter  would  tell  him.  Oh, 
if  only  she  had  not  written  that  letter!  She  would  have 
had  time,  and  time  was  what  she  needed — time  to  remove 
her  mother,  to  cover  her  own  tracks.  And  yet  she  knew 
now  that  she  could  not  give  Toby  up.  And  yet  to  give 
up  her  ambitions  was  now  a  proposition  equally  impossi- 
ble. She  could  not.  She  would  not.  She  wanted  every- 
thing. She  wanted  Toby;  but  she  wanted  her  opportu- 
nity with  the  business.  If  Toby  would  only  .  .  .  what? 
She  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  his  marrying  another  girl. 
She  wanted  him  for  herself.  But  if  he  would  only  accept 
the  situation — for  the  present.  If  he  would  keep  quiet. 
He  would  not.  She  could  not  control  him,  because  he 
was  another  human  being,  with  desires  and  impulses  as 
insistent  as  her  own. 

Her  mind  came  round  to  another  position.  If  she  had 
not  married  Gaga — if  she  had  kept  on  playing  with  him, 
tantalising  him,  until  she  had  been  indispensable!  No; 
that  was  impossible.  Wretched  creature  though  she  felt 
him  at  this  moment  to  be.  Gaga  also  was  a  human  being. 
Sally  was  in  conflict  with  the  world,  because  the  world 
opposes  to  the  wilfulness  of  the  individual  a  steady  pres- 
sure that  is  without  mercy  because  it  is  without  consid- 
erateness.  Nothing  is  more  selfish  than  the  individual, 
except  the  mass  of  individuals,  which  has  greater  power. 
Again,  in  her  torment,  Sally  longed  for  death.  Then, 
quickly  tangential,  she  returned  to  Toby  and  their  coming 
meeting.  If  she  did  not  tell  him,  but  let  him  find  her 
letter — she  would  have  lost  him.  He  would  be  savagely 
ang^.  He  would  infallibly  kill  her,  because  she  would 
have  deserved  his  vengeful  hatred. 


240  COQUETTE 

A  moan  reached  Sally's  ears.  Her  name  was  called. 
Gaga  must  have  seen  from  his  bed  the  light  in  the  next 
room.  She  hesitated,  repugnance  and  cruelty  struggHng 
in  her  mind  with  the  knowledge  that  she  must  submit  to 
her  burden.  Then  she  again  turned  to  the  bedroom,  fight- 
ing down  her  distaste,  her  horror  of  sickness  and  illness, 
of  invalidism,  of  Gaga  in  particular.  She  saw  his  grey 
face  all  pointed  and  sunken  in  the  electric  light,  and  took 
in  the  general  bareness  of  the  bedroom,  with  its  plain  iron 
bedstead  and  cream  coloured  crockery  and  worn  carpet 
and  walls  of  a  cold  pale  blue. 

"Sally,"  groaned  Gaga.    "I've  been  waiting  for  you." 

"You  ill?"  she  asked,  perfunctorily.  "Is  your  head 
bad?" 

"Dreadful !  How  long  you've  been."  Gaga's  voice  was 
feeble.  He  spoke  with  difficulty.  His  hand  was  reached 
out  for  hers.  With  an  effort  Sally  took  it,  and  bent  and 
kissed  Gaga's  temple.  He  looked  ghastly,  and  his  face 
was  moist  with  perspiration.  Had  Gaga  seen  the  aver- 
sion in  Sally's  eyes  he  would  have  released  her  in  horror ; 
but  he  was  self-engrossed.  He  had  been  longing  for  her, 
and  as  Sally  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  smoothing  the  hair 
back  from  his  brow  he  nestled  closer  to  her,  appeased  by 
the  contact,  and  genuinely  comforted  by  her  presence. 
His  eyes  closed.     He  made  no  attempt  to  speak. 

So  they  remained  for  several  moments.  Then  Sally 
tried  to  move,  and  he  resisted  her  movement  with  a  cling- 
ing protest. 

"I'm  just  going  to  tidy  up  a  bit,"  she  said.  "Then  I'm 
coming  to  bed." 

"I  wish  you'd  get  me  something  .  .  .  Some  Bov- 
ril  .  .  .  or  .  .  .  something."  Gaga  was  like  a  wasted 
child,  not  fractious,  but  fretful  and  wanting  to  be  petted. 
Sally  shuddered  as  she  took  steps  to  gratify  him;  and 
was  glad  to  have  some  occupation  that  carried  her  out 


CONSEQUENCES  241 

of  the  room  and  gave  her  something  to  do.  She  was 
momentarily  diverted  from  thought  of  Toby ;  but  she  had 
a  new  desire  to  be  away  from  the  hotel,  and  in  some 
house  or  flat  which  she  could  control  by  herself.  It  would 
be  so  much  easier.    It  would  .  .  . 

When  she  was  in  bed  she  was  prevented  from  sleeping 
by  her  now  recurring  diffculties.  She  was  absolutely  un- 
able to  make  a  plan  for  Toby.  She  was  disgusted  with 
Gaga  and  his  sickness.  She  was  afraid  and  rebellious 
and  exasperated.  And  as  she  lay  there  she  felt  Gaga 
moving,  and  heard  his  faint  groaning,  and  shook  with  a 
frenzy  that  was  a  thousand  times  more  than  irritation 
at  the  tangle  in  which  she  was  placed.  Like  all  young 
people,  she  imperiously  demanded  a  fresh  start — to  cut 
all  this  mess  away,  and  begin  again  as  though  nothing  at 
all  had  happened.  She  tried  to  repudiate  her  own  actions. 
It  was  no  good.  She  could  not  cancel  them.  What  she 
had  done  was  done,  and  the  consequences  were  inexorable. 
It  was  with  consequences  alone  that  she  had  to  deal. 
Stifled  screams  rose  within  her.  She  turned  frantically 
from  side  to  side. 

"Sally!"  peevishly  protested  Gaga.    "I  can't  get  .  .  . 
get  to  sleep  if  you  fidget  like  that.  You're  keeping  me  .  .  . 
awake.     Disturbing  me." 

"Am  I?"  cried  Sally,  with  suppressed  anger  steeling 
her  voice.    "I  can't  get  to  sleep  either.    It's  deadly!" 

"But  you're  .  .  .  fidgetting." 

"Oh  ...  I  thought  I  was  lying  quite  still!"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  irony.  A  bitter  laugh  was  checked  upon 
her  lips. 

There  was  a  silence,  and  Sally  tried  to  sleep.  It  was 
of  no  use.  With  a  deep  sigh  that  was  almost  a  passionate 
exclamation,  she  once  again  gave  way  to  her  uncontrol- 
lable restlessness. 

"Sally!"  came  the  grizzling  voice  of  Gaga. 


242  COQUETTE 

"What?"  she  shouted,  past  all  self-restraint. 

"You're  fidgetting!" 

"Well!  Who  wouldn't?  You  groaning — groaning — 
groaning.  Enough  to  make  anybody  fidget.  Why,  you're 
making  me  sick!  Why  can't  you  look  after  yourself? 
.  .  .  What's  the  use  of  eating  things  that  make  you  ill?" 

"I  didn't,"  groaned  Gaga.  "I  only  want  to  get  to 
sleep." 

"O — oh !"  It  was  a  savage,  inhuman  sound  of  horror 
and  despair.  Sally,  unendurably  exasperated,  slipped  out 
of  bed,  and  put  on  a  skirt  and  coat.  Then  she  went  into 
the  sitting-room,  made  up  the  fire,  and  curled  herself  up 
in  one  of  the  armchairs.    A  thin  voice  followed  her. 

"Sally!"  It  was  a  direct  call  to  hvsteria.  "Sally  .  .  . 
Sally  ..." 

"Oh,  shut  up !"  cried  Sally.  "I  can't  stand  it.  I  can't 
stand  it." 

"My  dearest  ..." 

She  ignored  Gaga;  but  she  could  not  sleep.  Although 
he  called  no  more,  she  heard  him  still  occasionally  making 
some  plaintive  sound,  while  she  continued  to  lie  curled 
in  the  chair  until  her  limbs  were  cramped.  Long  she 
pondered  upon  her  fate  and  her  situation ;  and  the  morn- 
ing found  her  still  irresolute,  filled  with  distaste  for  Gaga, 
and  fear  of  Toby,  and  a  general  loathing  of  the  diffi- 
culties which  she  and  they  had  jointly  created.  She  was 
unhappy  in  a  way  that  she  had  never  previously  known, 
helplessly  indignant,  and  all  the  time  argumentative  and 
explanatory  to  herself  because  she  knew  that  for  all  that 
was  now  threatening  her  she  alone  was  at  heart  to  blame. 
But  this  did  not  prevent  Sally  from  disliking  Gaga  as 
she  had  not  hitherto  disliked  him ;  for  Gaga  was  the  per- 
son whom  she  had  most  injured,  and  the  person  who 
now  stood  in  the  way  of  complete  liberty.  It  was  as  yet 
only  an  hysterical  exasperation  due  to  her  search  for 


CONSEQUENCES  243 

some  scapegoat;  biit  his  sickness  and  his  peevish  com- 
plaints of  her  restlessness  had  added  to  Sally's  feeling 
an  ingredient  of  distaste  which  she  could  not  overcome. 

viii 

In  the  morning,  when  they  met,  Gaga  was  sulkily  dis- 
tant ;  and  Sally  sat  opposite  to  him  at  their  chilly  break- 
fast with  a  puckered  brow  and  a  curled  lip.  It  was  not 
hatred  that  fired  her,  but  repugnance.  If  Gaga  had  made 
any  motion  towards  an  embrace  she  would  wildly  have 
pushed  him  from  her.  She  could  not  have  borne  his 
touch.  She  was  even  thankful  that  he  was  so  silent.  In 
this  estrangement  she  found  momentary  relief.  And  all 
the  time,  hammering  in  her  head,  was  the  one  thought — 
Toby,  Toby.  What  was  she  to  do  with  Toby?  As  she 
left  Gaga  at  breakfast  she  was  still  on  the  borders  of 
hysteria.  She  was  suffering  so  much  from  the  trials  of 
the  night  that  she  was  hardly  in  her  senses. 

The  workroom,  with  its  routine  and  the  need  for  hid- 
ing her  feelings,  gave  her  more  relief.  She  could  at  least 
take  some  pains  to  sew  accurately,  to  watch  the  other 
girls,  and  to  notice  how  Miss  Summers  started  at  the 
slightest  noise.  Miss  Summers,  Sally  knew,  was  worry- 
ing about  Madam  and  Madam's  health.  By  now  Gaga 
would  be  on  his  way  to  his  mother's  home,  equally  con- 
cerned. Only  Sally  was  indifferent  to  Madam's  health. 
She  had  no  interest  in  it.  Where  she  would,  but  for 
Toby,  have  followed  every  report  with  curiosity,  she 
was  now  more  than  callous.  Madam  was  the  least  of 
her  dilemmas.  Sally's  eyes  closed;  slowly  she  rocked  to 
and  fro,  forgetting  even  the  girls,  and  ignoring  her 
work  altogether.  Toby.  Her  heart  contracted  with  fear. 
Toby. 

And  yet  the  day  wore  on,  and  she  came  to  no  conclu- 


244  COQUETTE 

sion.  Late  in  the  afternoon  there  came  a  telephone  mes- 
sage. Gaga  was  on  the  line,  asking  for  Sally.  A  thrill 
went  round  the  workroom.  Gaga — Sally!  All  the  girls 
looked  at  one  another.  With  a  quickly-beating  heart 
Sally  went  into  the  telephone  box  and  answered.  As  if 
directly  in  her  ear,  Gaga  spoke;  but  his  voice  was  so 
strained  that  she  hardly  recognised  it.  She  was  still  un- 
forgiven.  The  voice  said :  "Sally,  my  .  .  .  my  mother's 
very  ill.  I  must  stay  here.  I  shan't  come  to  the  hotel 
to-night.    You  .  .  .  you'll  be  all  right." 

Like  lightning  Sally  answered :  "I'll  go  home  to-night." 

The  voice  said  "Wha-at?"  and  she  repeated  her  reply. 
Gaga  seemed  almost  pleased.  He  commended  the  plan. 
And  Sally  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  sudden  flush 
that  made  her  whole  body  feel  warm.  It  was  a  pro- 
found relief  to  her.  And  in  the  midst  of  relief  she 
found  another  emotion  more  vehement  still.  She  found 
passionate  joy,  and  overwhelming  temptation,  and  then 
again  a  sharp  icy  fear.  The  emotions  were  all  gone  in 
an  instant.  She  was  once  more  self-possessed.  She  re- 
turned to  the  workroom  with  an  impassive  face. 

"He  didn't  say  anything  about  Madam.  He  wants 
me  to  take  round  a  parcel  he  left  here  last  night,"  she 
glibly  explained.  "He's  not  coming  in  to-day  at  all.  I'm 
to  take  it  round  after  I  leave  work." 

With  immediate  care,  she  went  into  Madam's  room 
and  made  up  a  small  parcel  containing  a  cheap  novel 
which  Gaga  had  left  there.  This  she  brought  to  her 
place  and  kept  before  her.  Incredulously,  the  other  girls 
watched  and  sneered.  It  was  the  first  inkling  they  had 
had  of  any  special  relationship  between  Sally  and  Gaga. 
To  the  minds  of  all  occurred  memory  of  that  scene  in 
the  country,  when  Gaga  had  been  entranced  by  Sally's 
song.  They  remembered  the  unknown  girl's  joyous  yell, 
"What  price  Gaga  on  the  love  path !    Whey  1"    And  they 


CONSEQUENCES  246 

remembered  Miss  Rapson's  word  about  Sally — "deep." 
The  white-faced  cocket!  Rose  Anstey  stared  angrily  at 
Sally,  who  returned  the  glance  with  a  coolness  the  more 
destructive  because  it  arose  from  indifference.  But  Sally 
knew  all  that  was  going  on  around  her.  Gaga  had  been 
a  fool  to  ask  for  her  pointedly;  and  yet  what  else,  in 
the  circumstances,  could  he  have  done? 

Her  excitement  rose  as  the  afternon  progressed;  and 
by  the  evening  she  was  in  a  fever.  When  all  the  other 
girls  were  gathering  together  their  work  and  their  out- 
of-door  clothes  she  joined  the  general  melee  with  some- 
thing that  approached  fierceness.  It  was  not  that  Sally 
had  any  need  to  hurry,  for  there  were  two  hours  ahead 
of  her;  but  she  was  on  fire  to  be  gone,  to  take  her  little 
parcel  to  the  hotel,  to  give  the  clerk  there  news  of  her 
intended  absence  for  the  night,  and  to  make  a  careful 
toilette  before  her  appointment.  The  time  was  too  slow 
for  Sally.  She  was  biting  her  lips  with  impatience  more 
than  an  hour  before  the  time  agreed  upon  for  the  meet- 
ing. Her  old  longing  for  Toby  had  come  back  with  ex- 
traordinary strength.  As  the  darkness  grew  she  slipped 
out  of  the  hotel  and  into  the  night-sheltered  streets.  For 
long  she  walked  rapidly  about  London,  examining  each 
clock  she  passed  until  the  vagaries  of  them  all  so  height- 
ened her  passion  that  she  could  have  shrieked  at  their 
fresh  discrepancies. 

And  at  last  it  was  nearly  eight  o'clock,  and  she  walked 
round  and  round  the  Marble  Arch  in  the  tortured  light 
of  the  ballooned  lamps,  and  round  the  outer  side  of  the 
wide  road  thereabouts.  There  was  as  yet  no  sign  of 
Toby.  It  wanted  two  or  three  minutes  to  the  hour.  A 
rush  of  traffic  made  Oxford  Street  roar  as  if  with  fury. 
It  was  like  the  sea,  but  without  gradations  of  sound. 
Big  red  motor-omnibuses  thundered  along,  and  cabs  flew 
by.     There  were  occasional  electric  broughams  such  as 


246  COQUETTE 

she  coveted,  which  tinkled  a  bell  instead  of  sounding 
some  one  of  the  ugly  horns  which  added  their  noise  to 
the  general  racket.  And  Toby  did  not  come.  A  panic 
seized  her.  Perhaps  her  letter  after  all  had  been  for- 
warded to  him?  Perhaps  he  was  not  coming?  Much  as 
she  had  dreaded  his  violence,  such  a  failure  now  im- 
pressed her  as  even  more  sinister.  She  had  stopped  dead 
in  the  violence  of  this  sudden  thought,  and  was  for  the 
moment  blinded  and  deafened,  when  Toby  gently  took 
her  arm.  Sally's  first  jump  of  horror  was  followed  by 
such  an  abandonment  to  his  arms  that  she  was  rendered 
quite  unconscious  of  the  place  and  the  notice  of  those 
who  passed.  Only  she  recognised  that  Toby  was  there, 
that  he  was  not  angry,  that  he  was  the  same  strong  lover 
she  had  always  known,  ready  and  determined,  her  lover 
among  all  men. 

"Not  the  pictures.  Not  the  pictures,"  she  pleaded, 
with  tears  in  her  voice.  "Come  for  a  walk.  Come  this 
way!" 

She  pulled  at  Toby's  arm,  and  drew  him  towards  the 
entrance  to  Hyde  Park.  Her  arm  was  hugging  his,  her 
body  pressed  against  Toby's.  Only  when  they  were  out 
of  that  circle  of  light  did  she  feel  safe,  appeased,  able 
to  think  with  any  of  her  old  clearness.  She  had  been  a 
frightened  child.  Now  she  was  an  exultantly  happy  one, 
given  over  to  the  great  joy  of  the  moment. 


IX 

They  were  immediately  lost  in  the  darkness  of  the 
Park,  hidden  from  all,  and  oblivious  of  the  flashing  lamps 
of  vehicles  which  drove  endlessly  up  the  broad  road  from 
Piccadilly.  And  Sally  was  in  Toby's  arms,  straining 
him  to  her,  sobbing  and  uttering  little  sounds  of  love  and 
relief. 


CONSEQUENCES  247 

"Hullo,  hullo!"  cried  Toby,  jerking  her  chin  up  with 
a  rough  hand. 

"I  thought  you'd  never  come !  I  thought  you  wouldn't 
come!"  whispered  Sally.  "Oh,  Toby,  I  thought  you'd 
never  come!"    She  was  hysterical  in  her  joy. 

"Course  I  come !"  exclaimed  Toby.  "Wodjer  take  me 
for?" 

"Well,  /  didn't  know."  Sally  was  quite  unguarded. 
"Thought  you  might  have  ..."  She  checked  herself. 
Her  body  was  shaken  with  a  little  thrill  of  laughter — 
laughter  of  silly  joy.  She  hugged  him  closer.  "Been 
away  a  long  time  this  time,"  she  said.  Quite  a  sailor, 
ain't  you?  .  .  .  Did  you  have  rough  weather?  Ship 
all  sloppy  with  the  waves?  And  you  dancing  about  to 
keep  your  feet?" 

"It's  always  rough  weather,"  gloried  Toby.  "Sea  goin* 
all  the  time.  But  she's  a  daisy  to  keep  steady.  Wouldn't 
hardly  notice  you  was  moving." 

"Fm  sure!"  cried  Sally,  ironically.  "And  you  and  the 
captain  chatting  together  in  the  cabin,  and  all." 

"No."  Toby  was  condescending  under  chaff.  "But 
we're  quite  .  .  .  Skipper,  he's  called.  You  don't  call 
him  captain.  He's  just  like  me.  He's  no  better;  only 
he  .  .  ." 

"Only  he  knows  how  to  sail  a  boat,"  mocked  Sally. 

"So  do  I.  I  sailed  her  up  the  river."  He  was  reck- 
lessly and  untruthfully  boastful,  as  instinct  told  her. 

"/  should  think  so."  Sally's  voice  was  so  jeering  that 
it  laughed  his  pretensions  to  nothing  at  all.  "And  then 
you  woke  up." 

Toby  became  expostulatory.  But  all  the  time  Sally 
was  not  listening.  She  was  not  thinking  of  his  words 
at  all;  but  was  only  conscious  of  the  warm  glow  run- 
ning through  her  at  his  nearness  and  his  strong  clasp. 
Every  now  and  then  she  prompted  him  to  kiss  her;  and 


248  COQUETTE 

when  Toby  kissed  her  she  felt  as  though  she  did  not 
know  what  unhappiness  was.  He  was  so  strong,  and 
his  chin  so  firm  and  rough;  and  he  had  such  an  air  of 
the  salt  sea  about  him,  that  she  was  like  a  baby  at  the 
breast.  She  loved  him.  No  thought  of  Gaga  came. 
Only  the  moment's  delight  absorbed  them  both. 

Presently  they  began  to  walk  along  the  dark  path, 
Toby's  arm  still  pressing  Sally  to  his  side,  and  his  head 
every  now  and  then  almost  savagely  down  against  her 
hair.  The  small  hat  she  had  worn  was  taken  off,  and 
was  carried,  swinging.  Sally  was  so  small  and  so  com- 
paratively weak  beside  Toby's  burly  strength  that  she 
was  all  the  time  relishing  his  power  entirely  to  subdue 
her;  and  her  wits  were  so  quick  that  she  never  had  a 
moment's  hesitation  as  to  the  right  way  to  tease  him. 
She  was  without  any  least  sensation  of  unhappiness.  She 
had  never  been  so  glad  of  Toby  since  their  first  exulting 
days  of  passion,  and  her  whole  nature  was  bubbling  and 
trembling  towards  him  in  the  old  way,  as  if  they  had 
come  together  again  after  some  long  dreadful  estrange- 
ment. 

And  then  Sally  remembered  Gaga.  She  had  been 
laughing  so  much  in  herself  at  this  long  evening  of  free- 
dom, that  the  recollection  was  like  ice  to  her  heart.  It 
was  all  a  mockery,  a  fantasy;  and  Toby  was  no  more 
hers.  She  was  separated  from  him  for  ever,  and  the 
more  closely  she  was  embraced  by  him  the  less  she  felt 
herself  free  to  belong  to  him.  A  revulsion  of  feeling 
shook  her.  With  an  instinctive  movement  almost  savage, 
she  escaped  from  his  arm  and  walked  onward,  her  face 
set  and  her  spirits  banished. 

"No,"  she  cried,  when  Toby  sought  to  re-establish 
his  protective  hold.  She  was  as  if  deep  in  thought;  but 
in  fact  she  was  not  thinking  at  all,  but  was  only  over- 
whelmed by  the  old  horror  of  her  situation  which  had 


CONSEQUENCES  249 

newly  arisen  after  this  short  respite  of  dreaming.  Toby- 
let  her  walk  alone,  and  lighted  a  cigarette,  slouching  be- 
side her  with  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  jacket.  He 
was  a  dim  hunched  figure  in  the  gloom.  Sally  could  not 
see  him  clearly;  her  sense  of  him  was  simply  of  his 
strength  and  his  responsiveness  to  her  own  physical  in- 
clinations. The  sense  evoked  in  her  heart  longing  which 
made  Sally  bow  her  head.  She  sighed  deeply;  her  fixed 
eyes  were  closed.  She  was  quite  blind.  For  an  instant 
she  was  lost  in  grave  humility.  Her  smile  in  the  dark- 
ness held  such  sweetness  that  it  gave  proof  of  her  true 
love,  her  beautiful  and  entranced  adoration. 

"What  time  you  got  to  be  back?"  Toby  abruptly 
questioned  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone.  It  was  like  the  un- 
expected tearing  of  calico,  so  sharply  did  such  a  demand 
break  the  vision  and  show  his  insensitiveness  to  her  mood. 

"Back?"  Sally  was  dazed.  She  could  not  understand 
Toby's  speech.  "Back  where?"  She  had  an  extraordi- 
nary feeling  of  shock.    Her  peace  was  destroyed. 

"To-night." 

Sally  caught  her  breath.  In  a  strained  tone  that 
sounded,  as  she  meant  it  to  sound,  as  though  she  had 
been  merely  inattentive,  she  made  answer: 

"Oh,  I  .  .  .  I'm  going  home  to-night.  Holloway. 
Stopping  with  mother." 

Toby  had  looked  at  his  watch  before  throwing  his 
match  away. 

"It's  ha'  parce  eight,"  he  mentioned. 

A  fierceness  shook  Sally.  It  was  more  than  she  could 
bear.  She  turned  upon  him  in  a  fury.  With  such  a 
snarling  venom  did  she  speak  that  Toby  drew  himself 
almost  defensively  to  his  full  height. 

"Don't  let  me  keep  you!"  she  cried.  "I  didn't  know 
you  were  in  a  hurry.    If  you  want  to  go  home,  go.    Go  !'* 


250  COQUETTE 

She  ended  almost  in  a  scream,  and  her  fists  were 
frantically  jerked. 

"Here!"  Toby  was  disconcerted.  "What  you  talk- 
ing about?  I  only  said  the  time."  He  seized  her,  and 
Sally  struggled  as  of  old.  But  she  could  not  resist  him. 
There  was  too  great  a  discrepancy  in  their  strength,  and 
in  their  will,  when  her  own  will  so  dangerously  betrayed 
her.  Toby  held  her  closer  and  closer.  His  grip  was 
tyrannic.  Sally's  breath  was  short,  sobbing;  her  eyes 
were  again  closed,  and  her  lips  tragically  pressed  to- 
gether. Her  face  might  have  been  marble.  And  as  he' 
held  her  fast,  Toby  forced  back  Sally's  head  and  many 
times  kissed  her  hotly  and  possessively.  "What's  the 
row?"  he  demanded.  She  heard  the  savagery  of  his  tone, 
and  felt  his  warm  breath  on  her  cheek;  and  some  under- 
tone of  his  husky  voice  vibrated  in  her  ear.  "Ain't  you 
well,  Sal?"  he  whispered.  "I  never  meant  I  wanted 
to  go  home.  I  don't.  You  know  that.  I  only  said  the 
time.  Only  .  .  .  how  long  had  we  got?  Sally,  old 
girl  .  .  ." 

"All  right,  all  right!"  Sally  did  not  know  what  she 
was  saying.  Her  brows  were  knitted  in  distraction. 
Then:  "Oh,  any  old  time  .  .  ."  And  as  she  spoke  temp- 
tation suddenly  swept  her  with  a  tingling  heat,  and  her 
mouth  was  dry  and  her  body  tense  with  the  excitement  of 
the  overwhelming  moment.  Her  heart  beat  so  fast  that 
she  was  quite  breathless.  With  an  impulse  too  strong 
for  resistance  she  returned  her  lips  to  Toby's,  half-cry- 
ing, and  in  vehement  surrender.  She  could  see  no  fur- 
ther, could  endure  no  more.  At  the  withdrawal  she  cried 
gaspingly:  "I  needn't  .  .  .  needn't  go  home  at  all  .  .  . 
to-night.    Nobody  .  .  .  expects  me.    Toby!" 


CONSEQUENCES  251 


In  the  morning  Sally  awoke  with  a  heavy  heart.  Fore- 
boding was  more  gloomy  than  she  had  ever  known  it. 
The  hotel  bedroom  in  which  they  had  slept  was  very 
small,  and  the  walls  towered  above  her.  It  was  a  dirty 
room,  and  the  bright  sunlight  that  came  through  the 
slats  of  the  blinds  revealed  the  thick  London  dust  in  the 
curtains  and  on  the  walls.  Toby  was  by  her  side,  fast 
asleep.  She  had  no  sense  of  wrong-doing — it  never 
troubled  Sally,  who  judged  her  own  conduct  by  excep- 
tional standards ;  but  she  was  again  full  of  fear.  Lightly 
she  touched  Toby's  thick  strong  hair,  and  kissed  it,  half 
raised  from  her  pillow ;  and  bending  over  him.  Her  love 
was  undiminished,  but  her  fear  of  him  was  suddenly  in- 
creased. And  as  she  withdrew  her  hand  and  sat  upright 
she  caught  sight  of  the  wedding-ring  which  she  had  taken 
from  her  purse  and  slipped  onto  her  finger  before  they 
reached  the  hotel.  They  had  come  without  luggage,  and 
it  had  been  an  impulse  of  caution  which  had  led  her  to 
wear  the  ring.  Slowly  she  turned  it  round  and  round 
upon  her  finger,  not  recalling  that  it  was  Gaga's  ring, 
not  considering  her  use  of  it  an  added  dishonour  to  Gaga, 
but  looking  at  it  abstractedly.  The  ring  meant  so  much, 
and  so  little.  Her  marriage  had  meant  so  much  and  so 
little.  A  faint  smile  stole  to  her  lips  and  played  abou^ 
them. 

A  stirring  of  Toby's  body  made  her  glance  quickly 
down.  His  eyes  were  open,  and  he  was  staring  solemnly 
at  her.  His  hair  was  all  roughened,  and  his  dark  face 
was  puffed  with  sleep.  He  looked  like  her  big  baby,  ir- 
resistibly lovable.  The  smile  deepened;  but  she  did  not 
speak.  She  made  no  movement  at  all ;  and  Toby,  stretch- 
ing out  a  lazy  arm,  put  it  round  her  waist. 

"Ugh!"  he  said,  grunting  with  satisfaction.     With 


262  COQUETTE 

calm  pleasure  she  enjoyed  the  knowledge  of  his  great 
muscular  strength;  but  she  did  not  respond  to  him  at 
all.  Toby  jerked  towards  her,  so  that  his  head  rested 
against  her  side,  and  Sally  mechanically  crooked  her  arm 
lightly  over  his  further  cheek.  Toby  blinked  a  little,, 
and  yawned,  and  looked  at  the  sunshine.  "Wha's  time?" 
he  gaped.     "Oh-o-oo." 

"Dunno.  Oo,  bless  me!"  Sally  roused  herself.  "I 
mustn't  be  late."  She  reached  out  for  Toby's  watch,  on 
the  table  at  his  side  of  the  bed,  and  held  it  up  to  the 
light.  The  time  was  half-past-seven.  She  looked  at  the 
old  watch,  a  cheap  one  with  a  loud  tick.  "I'll  give  you 
a  watch,  one  day,"  she  said,  condescendingly.  "A 
watch." 

"Here!"  Toby's  voice  changed.  He  caught  her  wrist 
sharply — so  sharply  that  Sally  almost  dropped  the  watch 
on  the  quilt.  "What's  that?"  His  tone  was  so  strange 
that  she  was  surprised,  and  tried  to  follow  his  glance. 
It  rested  upon  her  hand — ^upon  the  wedding  ring.  Sally's 
blood  froze. 

"Oh,  that?"  she  said,  with  an  attempt  to  be  easy. 
"Can't  come  into  a  place  like  this  ...  I  mean,  without 
a  ring  of  some  sort." 

"Oh?"  asked  Toby,  sternly.  "You  know  all  about  it, 
don't  you?" 

"Well  ?"  Sally  was  frightened,  but  simulating  defiance. 
"It's  true,  isn't  it?" 

"Where'd  you  get  it?" 

"Shop."    She  was  so  afraid  that  she  was  insolent. 

"I  s'pose  you're  used  to  this  sort  of  thing,"  cried  Toby. 
He  sat  up  beside  her,  his  face  deeply  crimsoned,  his  ex- 
pression accusing.    "Used  to  it,  are  you?" 

"No !"  answered  Sally. 

"What  did  you  get  it  for?" 

Sally  could  not  hide  her  trembling.    She  was  blanched, 


CONSEQUENCES  253 

and  her  shoulder  was  raised  as  if  to  avoid  a  blow.  It 
came.  Toby  released  her  wrist,  and  seized  her  shoulder. 
Roughly,  he  so  shoved  her  away  from  him  that  she  was 
thrown  upon  her  face.  She  scrambled  out  of  bed,  and 
stood  panting  before  him,  while  Toby,  kicking  down 
the  bedclothes,  seemed  crouched  upon  the  bed  as  if  he 
might  murderously  spring  at  her.  She  watched  his 
hands,  fascinated  by  an  imagination  of  their  grip  upon 
her  throat. 

"What  did  you  get  it  for?"  Toby  repeated,  in  a 
voice  of  madness. 

"To  come  here." 

"Liar!"  He  leapt  out  of  bed,  and  Sally,  in  a  panic, 
turned  to  fly.  She  could  not  escape.  Toby  held  her 
shoulder  again.  Again  he  savagely  pushed  her,  so  that 
she  fell  against  the  wall,  her  head  striking  it.  Sally  slid 
to  the  floor,  shrinking  from  him,  terrified  now  that  death 
seemed  so  near.  She  did  not  scream.  She  could  still 
have  done  so;  but  it  was  not  her  instinct  to  cry  out. 
"You  liar!"  Toby  said  again.  "What  did  you  get  it  for? 
Christ !"  He  dragged  Sally  once  again  to  her  feet.  His 
fingers  were  bruising  her  arm.  She  was  physically  help- 
less and  half-stunned.  "Is  that  the  way  you  make  your 
living?"  demanded  Toby,  beside  himself. 

"No!"  It  was  Sally's  turn  to  shout.  "No,  you  fool. 
You  fooir 

"You  dirty  little  liar!     It  is!" 

"It's  not !"  cried  Sally.  With  a  tremendous  effort  for 
self-control  she  checked  a  sob  that  would  have  plunged 
her  into  hysteria.     "I'm  married!" 

Toby  fell  away,  his  mouth  open.  The  release  sent 
Sally  against  the  wall  once  more.  He  stood  looking  at 
her,  his  face  grey,  his  eyes  smouldering. 

"You  tell  me  thatr  he  said.     "Married !" 

"Yes.    Married." 


254  COQUETTE 

He  did  not  speak.  He  eyed  her  with  a  sombre  and 
threatening  appraisement.  Then,  more  quietly,  he  went 
on: 

"You  can't  be.  You're  mine.  You  belong  to  me.  No- 
body else  can't  have  you !" 

"Nobody  else  can  have  me.  But  I'm  married,  all 
right,"  Sally  told  him.  She  was  recovering  some  com- 
posure. When  she  moistened  her  lips  she  glanced  side- 
ways at  him,  like  lightning.  Toby  had  not  struck  her. 
He  was  too  surprised. 

"Married  .  .  .  And  you  come  here  with  me.     Liar!" 

"My  husband's  away  .  .  .  We  don't  .  .  .  His 
mother's  ill.  I  don't  love  him — never  did.  We  were 
only  married  a  few  days  ago.  I  wrote  to  you.  You 
never  got  the  letter." 

"Oh,  thafs  why  .  .  ."  Toby's  tone  was  vengeful. 
His  fists  were  clenched. 

"See,  Toby,  I  only  love  you.  Only  you.  But  he's  rich. 
We  ...  I  don't  sleep  with  him,  Toby.  He's  never  .  .  ." 

"You  Har!"  Toby  approached  her.  Sally  could  see 
his  teeth  glistening. 

"I  swear  it's  true.     Toby!" 

Toby  suddenly  caught  her  a  blow  on  the  arm  which 
sent  her  spinning  across  the  tiny  room.  She  held  on  to 
the  mantelpiece  to  save  a  fall.  They  were  both  panting 
now ;  but  Toby  was  like  a  bulldog.  The  colour  was  re- 
turning to  his  cheeks.  He  was  watching  Sally,  as  she 
was  watching  him.  She  was  ready  to  dodge  a  further 
blow;  but  she  knew  that  if  he  was  determined  to  kill 
her  nothing  would  stop  him.  She  was  filled  with  abject 
fear  at  her  own  physical  powerlessness.  But  by  now 
her  wits  were  alert  again.  Toby  made  a  movement,  and 
Sally  started,  ready  to  dart  away.  He  did  not  come 
nearer.     A  stupidity  seemed  to  descend  uf>on  him. 

A  loud  rap  at  the  door  startled  them  both. 


CONSEQUENCES  255 

"Hot  water.  Half-past  seven.  And  less  noise  there!" 
came  a  loud  voice.  The  whole  scene  was  transformed 
by  the  interruption.    Both  became  listless. 

"Married!"  Toby  said,  as  if  to  himself.  He  shook 
his  head. 

*T  love  yoi/t"  Sally  told  him. 

He  sat  dully  upon  the  bed.  Timidly,  for  fear  of 
another  outburst,  Sally  approached  him.  At  last,  stand- 
ing by  his  side,  she  held  Toby's  head  to  her  breast,  kiss- 
ing him  with  little  fierce  kisses  that  must  have  carried 
their  message  to  his  heart.  At  last  Toby's  arms  were 
raised,  and  around  her,  and  she  was  pressed  to  him  once 
more.  Their  lips  met.  Toby  made  a  muffled,  snarling 
sound  that  was  a  mixture  of  love  and  hatred  and  master- 
fulness. He  held  her  with  ferocity.  Then,  as  suddenly, 
his  muscles  relaxed,  until  Sally  by  repeated  endearments 
baffled  his  indignation  and  softened  his  anger.  She  was 
struggling  with  all  her  might  to  keep  possession  of  him, 
moving  each  instant  with  more  assurance  among  his  dull 
thoughts  and  his  easily-roused  passions.  As  the  moments 
passed  she  knew  that  she  had  kept  him,  and  at  this  knowl- 
edge her  own  passion  rose  until  it  equalled  Toby's. 

"My  love,"  she  whispered.    "My  dear  love." 

xi 

Later  in  the  day,  when  she  was  able  to  think  of  all 
that  had  happened,  Sally  had  an  unexpected  glimpse  of 
the  situation.  She  realised  that  she  was  a  victor.  She 
was  almost  too  satisfied.  She  had  no  shame,  no  contri- 
tion; she  merely  knew  that  if  she  might  still  keep  Toby 
her  marriage  with  Gaga  would  be  bearable.  She  had 
none  of  the  turmoil  of  the  conventional  married  woman 
who  takes  a  lover;  but  then  she  had  never  been  trained 
to  be  scrupulous.    She  was  still  young  enough  to  be  in- 


256  COQUETTE 

toxicated  by  her  own  prowess.  She  could  manage  Gaga ; 
she  could  manage  Toby;  she  could  manage  the  busi- 
ness— there  was  no  end  to  her  power.  More  than  any- 
thing else,  it  was  necessity  to  her  to  gratify  her  sense 
of  power.  If  that  necessity  had  been  removed  she  would 
have  known  herself  for  a  reckless  fool;  but  the  demand 
for  power  obliterated  every  inconvenient  thought  of  risk. 
As  for  a  sense  of  honour,  Sally  had  been  bom  without 
one. 

All  the  girls  looked  at  her  "very  old-fashioned,"  as 
they  would  have  said,  when  she  arrived  in  the  morning; 
but  as  the  day  wore  on,  and  there  was  no  further  tele- 
phone message  for  her  from  Gaga,  they  began  to  for- 
get what  had  happened  on  the  previous  day.  Sally 
worked  like  a  mouse,  her  brain  exulting  in  its  vivid 
memories  of  her  time  with  Toby;  and  she  did  not  think 
of  Gaga  at  all.  She  only  hoped  that  he  would  not  come 
to  the  office.  She  was  feeling  too  tired  to  deal  effectively 
with  any  peevishness  from  Gaga;  although,  the  causes 
of  her  hysteria  having  been  removed,  she  was  not  likely 
to  repeat  the  failure  of  that  other  restless  night.  A  heavi- 
ness hung  upon  her  as  the  day  wore  on ;  a  kind  of  thick 
readiness  for  sleep.  She  yawned  over  her  work.  The 
workroom  seemed  stuffy,  the  day  unusually  long.  The 
nervous  strain  of  the  past  few  days  was  reacting,  and 
even  Sally's  vitality  was  shaken  by  the  consequences  of 
her  successive  excitements.  When  tea-time  came  she  was 
relieved.  But  there  had  been  no  news  of  Gaga,  or  from 
him :  not  even  a  message  through  Miss  Summers.  Miss 
Summers  grew  more  and  more  fidgetty  and  anxious  as 
the  hours  went  by. 

"I  do  hope  nothing's  happened,"  she  clucked.  "So 
funny  not  having  heard.  I  wonder  if  I  ought  to  tele- 
phone to  ask.  Perhaps  Mr.  Bertram's  ill.  Did  you  see 
him  last  night?    D'you  think  I  ought  to  ring  up?    I'm 


CONSEQUENCES  257 

so  worried.  It's  so  strange,  and  Madam  being  so  ill, 
and  that." 

"I  shouldn't  worry,"  urged  Sally.  "He'll  'phone  fast 
enough  if  there's  anything  to  say.    Look  at  yesterday." 

"Yes;  but  perhaps  he's  ill  himself." 

"Sick,"  commented  Sally.     "He's  bilious,  you  know." 

Miss  Summers  shook  her  head,  and  sighed. 

"Yes,"  she  readily  agreed.  "I'm  afraid  he's  not  the 
man  his  mother  is." 

They  had  hardly  finished  speaking  when  Miss  Sum- 
mers was  called  to  the  telephone.  She  was  away  for  two 
or  three  minutes;  and  returned  with  tears  streaming 
down  her  cheeks.  All  their  pink  plumpness  was  softened 
into  a  blur  of  tearful  weakness.  She  was  bent  and  dis- 
solved under  disaster.  As  she  made  her  way  up  the 
long  workroom  to  her  place  the  girls  all  craned  their 
necks  to  look  at  Miss  Summers,  and  one  or  two — the 
kinder  ones — rose  to  see  if  they  could  do  anything  to 
comfort  her.  But  it  was  to  Sally  that  Miss  Summers 
turned,  and  within  an  inch  of  Sally's  cheeks  that  she 
shook  her  tear-stained  face.  At  first  she  could  not  speak; 
but  grimaced  like  a  child,  as  if  her  cold  nose  was  smart- 
ing. Sally  was  first  to  hear  the  news;  but  all  of  them 
had  known  it  from  the  first  glimpse  of  Miss  Summers 
in  tears. 

"She's  gone,"  cried  Miss  Summers.  "Poor  soul,  she's 
gone.    And  what  will  happen  to  us  I  don't  know." 

"We'll  be  all  right,"  Sally  murmured,  with  singular 
confidence.  A  shock  had  slightly  discomposed  her,  but 
it  was  not  a  shock  of  sorrow  for  the  death  of  Madame 
Gala.  Rather  was  it  a  passing  thrill  of  dismay  at  her 
own  responsibility,  which  her  reassuring  speech  had  been 
intended  to  remove. 

"She's  dead  .  .  .  Madam's  dead  .  .  ."  ran  through 
the  workroom.    One  girl  hurried  to  tell  Miss  Rapson  and 


258  COQUETTE 

the  workers  in  her  department,  who  came  crowding  im- 
mediately into  the  room,  agog  with  excitement.  They 
all  gathered  together  in  a  body,  and  then  in  detached 
groups,  talking  fast. 

"I  s'pose  we'll  all  have  a  day  off  for  the  funeral," 
somebody  said  with  a  giggle. 

"Oo,  yes.  Sure  to.  And  have  to  wear  mourning," 
added  another  girl,  more  solemnly  and  hopefully. 

Sally  stood,  as  if  by  right,  with  Miss  Summers  and 
Miss  Rapson.  She  was  definitely  a  principal  figure  in 
the  scene.  Just  as  the  other  girls  began  to  notice  this, 
and  murmuringly  to  comment  upon  it  as  a  piece  of  char- 
acteristic impudence.  Miss  Summers  had  a  quick  return 
of  memory.  Gesticulating  with  helpless  impatience,  she 
said: 

"Oh,  Sally;  I'd  quite  forgotten.  Mr.  Bertram  is  ill. 
And  the  nurse  said  he  was  asking  to  see  you.  Yes,  ask- 
ing to  see  .  .  .  Miss  Minto." 

Asking  to  see  Sally  Minto !  There  was  a  thrill  among 
the  girls  that  was  even  greater  than  the  one  which  they 
had  felt  at  the  news  of  Madam's  death.  Gaga  asking  to 
see  Sally  Minto!  Whew!  Everything  became  electric. 
Rose  Anstey  coloured  deeply,  and  turned  upon  her  heel. 
Sally  knew  they  were  all  staring  at  her,  like  fish  in  an 
aquarium.  With  something  approaching  dignity  she 
ignored  them  and  directly  addressed  Miss  Summers. 

"Did  you  mean  he  wanted  me  to  go  at  once?"  she 
asked. 

"Yes,  child.  Yes.  At  once.  Better  run  along  now 
.  .  .**  Miss  Summers  was  distracted,  tearful,  inclined 
to  kiss  Sally,  and  altogether  without  knowledge  of  what 
she  was  doing  or  what  she  ought  to  do.  "Wait  .  .  . 
Tell  him — ^perhaps  I  ought  to  write  a  letter?  Oh,  dear! 
I  don't  know  ..."    She  pressed  her  fingers  to  her  tern- 


CONSEQUENCES  269 

pies.  "No,  tell  him  how  sorry  we  all  are.  Say  if  he 
wants  me  .  .  .  Run  along,  run  along!" 

"Yes,  Miss  Summers." 

In  a  very  leisurely  manner,  Sally  rolled  up  her  pina- 
fore and  put  her  work  away.  Then  she  washed  and 
dressed  herself  to  go  out.  She  walked  back  through  the 
workroom  like  a  queen,  sedately  bidding  Miss  Summers 
"good -afternoon"  and  smiling  a  cool  farewell  to  the 
girls.  The  buzz  of  their  amazed  whispering  followed  her 
into  the  waiting-room.  She  felt  their  eyes  like  stings  in 
her  back.  On  the  way  downstairs  the  memory  of  the 
scene  and  an  understanding  of  the  girls'  feelings  made 
her  laugh.  Well,  that  was  that;  and  she  was  face  to 
face  with  her  problem  in  its  entirety.  Unconsciously, 
Sally  walked  more  erect. 


Xll 

Sally  never  went  back  to  the  workroom.  She  hurried 
from  it  to  the  old  house  in  Kensington  in  which  the 
Merricks  had  lived  for  years ;  and  as  she  saw  the  house, 
so  black  with  dust,  and  the  steps  that  led  up  to  the  heavy 
front  door,  even  Sally's  heart  quailed.  She  hesitated  for 
several  minutes  before  going  up  the  steps,  and  loitered 
there,  a  little  figure  in  a  grey  dress,  trim  and  chic,  but 
not  at  all  the  girl  to  take  control  of  such  a  mansion  and 
of  the  difficulties  which  lay  within.  She  could  not  tell 
what  a  mass  of  custom  the  house  indicated;  but  her 
instinct  was  enough  to  make  her  feel  extraordinarily 
small,  extraordinarily  untrained  and  incapable.  It  had 
been  very  well  for  her  to  suppose  that  everything  could 
be  seized  and  controlled  at  a  glance.  The  reality  was 
too  solid  for  a  longer  dream.  Thoughtless,  over-confi- 
dent as  her  fantasy  had  been,  she  had  the  sense  which 
a  child  has  when  a  running  man  comes  threateningly 


260  COQUETTE 

near — of  a  great  shape,  of  unexpected  size  and  danger- 
ousness,  looming  out  of  the  focussed  picture,  and  setting 
all  previous  conceptions  at  nought.  Here  was  this  giant 
house,  and  Madam  lying  dead  in  it,  and  servants  who 
would  resent  her  appearance,  and  Gaga;  and  Sally  was 
such  a  little  girl  in  the  face  of  a  definite  trial.  She  was 
a  little  girl,  and  she  would  never  be  able  to  deal  with 
what  lay  ahead.  It  was  a  long,  devastating  spasm  of 
doubt,  like  a  trembling  of  the  earth.  The  house  towered 
above  her,  huge  and  gloomy;  and  other  houses,  equally 
oppressive,  continued  from  the  Merricks'  house,  with 
basements  and  railings  and  great  black  fronts  and  lace 
curtains,  until  the  road  turned  and  its  end  was  unseen. 
And  Sally,  who  had  lived  all  her  life  in  small  flats  and 
single  rooms,  was  shaken.  Her  heart  sank.  She  entered 
the  house.  Her  head  was  high,  from  pride;  but  her 
qualms  were  intense.  An  atmosphere  of  solemn  melan- 
choly made  everybody  speak  in  low  tones.  She  had  diffi- 
culty in  remaining  calm. 

All  the  rooms  were  large  rooms,  filled  with  large  furni- 
ture and  old  pictures  and  prints.  Madam  had  made  her 
home  for  comfort;  and  the  taste  which  had  marked  her 
other  work  was  here  subdued.  An  old  clock  ticked 
steadily;  and  if  there  were  no  ancient  horrors  at  least 
the  house  within  did  not  belie  its  serious  front.  Sally 
was  like  a  little  doll,  shrinking  under  the  weight  of  such 
solid  comfort,  and  not  yet  able  to  appraise  it  in  terms 
of  possession  and  disposal.  She  was  still  shy  and  timid. 
Wherever,  upon  this  first  entrance,  she  looked  round  for 
encouragement,  she  found  none.  During  that  first  eve- 
ning she  was  so  miserable  that  she  could  have  run  away. 
She  was  like  a  child  that  goes  for  the  first  time  to  school, 
and  feels  bereft  of  every  familiar  support  and  associa- 
tion. 

But  in  the  morning  Sally  found  everything  better.    She 


CONSEQUENCES  261 

saw  Gaga's  doctor,  and  she  talked  to  the  three  servants. 
She  telephoned  to  Miss  Summers  and  asked  her  to  come 
to  the  house  in  the  afternoon.  She  wrote  to  Mrs.  Perce 
and  to  Toby.  She  nursed  Gaga  and  refused  to  see  the 
dead  body  of  his  mother.  Every  minute  which  she  spent 
in  the  house  increased  her  familiarity  with  it;  and  her 
youth  and  smallness  captivated  the  three  middle-aged 
servants,  who  were  glad  to  have  somebody  there  whom 
they  could  advise.  Sally  had  long  been  able  to  behave 
as  somebody  other  than  a  workgirl,  and  the  servants  were 
so  well-behaved  that  they  did  not  make  any  attempt  to 
be  too  much  at  ease  with  her.  Sally,  moreover,  looked 
down  with  all  the  contempt  of  her  class  upon  women 
who  worked  in  domestic  service — SKIVVIES !  She  was 
drawlingly  refined  with  them,  but  not  grotesquely  so,  and 
they  respected  her. 

First  in  importance  among  the  things  which  Sally 
had  to  seem  to  arrange  was  the  funeral.  She  handed 
all  the  details  to  the  undertaker.  This  showed  her  to 
be  a  general.  From  the  first  she  followed  the  only  pos- 
sible plan — to  give  carte  blmiche  to  those  who  had  to  deal 
with  matters  of  urgency.  Gaga  was  all  the  time  ill.  His 
mother's  death  had  so  broken  down  his  strength  and  his 
self-control  i.'.  -^t  Sally  often  found  him  weak  with  cry- 
ing; a  pathetic  fi^-ic,  in  bed,  woebegone  and  feeble.  His 
delight  at  seeing  her  was  so  violent  that  he  had  covered 
her  hands  with  kisses  before  he  fell  back  exhausted  upon 
his  pillow.  He  constantly  called  for  her.  The  servants 
noticed  with  clucked  tongues  how  feverish  was  his  devo- 
tion ;  but  they  also  recognised  Sally's  patience.  Sally  was 
angelic  to  Gaga,  She  tended  him  so  protectively  that 
one  might  have  thought  her  loving.  And  in  the  rest  of 
her  free  time  she  tried  hard  to  learn  about  the  house. 
Mistakes  she  made,  of  course,  and  many  of  them;  but 


262  COQUETTE 

she  was  still  shrewd,  and  if  she  was  often  superficial 
and  hasty,  at  least  she  was  alert. 

Miss  Summers  Sally  found  invaluable.  Once  Miss 
Summers  had  overcome  her  surprise  at  the  new  order, 
and  once  she  had  found  that  Sally  was  the  old  Sally,  who 
relied  upon  her,  she  rose  to  every  call.  Her  kindness 
and  her  generalship  were  unfailing.  She  it  was  who  kept 
the  business  moving  at  a  trying  time.  In  her  hands 
orders  were  filled  with  the  expected  promptitude  and  the 
customary  excellence.  She  obsequiously  interviewed 
those  who  came  to  be  fitted;  and  her  knowledge  of  the 
business  enabled  her  to  satisfy  these  customers  and  make 
them  understand  that  in  spite  of  the  extraordinary  con- 
ditions they  could  still  rely  upon  proper  attention.  She 
was  unsparing  of  her  time  and  her  devotion.  She  had 
at  last  a  satisfactory  mission. 

And  all  this  Sally  recognised.  While  Gaga  claimed  her 
attention,  and  household  affairs  worried  her,  she  did  not 
trouble  very  much  about  the  business.  Miss  Summers 
would  come  in  the  evening  to  Kensington,  tell  her  the 
news,  and  give  advice  upon  other  matters.  The  two  had 
long  talks  at  night.  Sally  suddenly  knew  how  valuable 
a  friend  she  had  in  Miss  Summers.  She  knew  the  value 
of  an  unselfish  readiness  to  serve;  and  she  herself  was 
generous  enough  and,  in  a  sense,  imaginative  enough  not 
to  exploit  Miss  Summers.  There  was  a  good  understand- 
ing between  them.  And  Sally,  as  she  looked  round  at 
the  mahogany  furniture  in  this  old  house,  and  saw  the 
dull  carpets  and  engravings  which  Madam  had  gathered 
together  in  other  days  for  the  suitable  adornment  of  her 
rooms,  could  think  of  no  better  repayment  than  a  gift 
of  some  of  the  things  which  Miss  Summers  might  prize, 
and  which  Sally  and  Gaga  could  never  use.  It  was  char- 
acteristic of  her  that  she  made  this  definite  reservation; 
but  with  Gaga's  consent  she  finally  made  Miss  Summers 


CONSEQUENCES  263 

happy  by  such  a  lavish  present  that  Sally  might  have 
done  many  strange  things  without  ever  losing  the  loyalty 
of  her  adjutant. 

She  slept  by  herself  in  a  room  connected  with  Gaga's 
room  by  an  open  door.  She  was  thus  able  to  tend  him 
during  his  frequent  fits  of  sickness  and  weakness,  which 
often  took  the  form  of  long  hypochondriacal  attacks ;  and 
was  at  the  same  time  given  opportunity  for  active  thought 
and  planning.  Sally  was  very  happy  in  these  days,  for 
nothing  gives  greater  happiness  than  incessant  occupa- 
tion that  is  flattering  to  the  vanity.  She  walked  with  a 
new  air,  looked  about  her  with  confidence  and  a  sense  of 
ownership.  Above  all,  she  had  reached  that  almost  super- 
human state — she  knew  herself  to  be  indispensable. 

xiii 

When  Gaga  seemed  to  be  well  enough,  they  went  out 
for  a  time  each  day,  and  Sally  tried  to  interest  him  in 
plans  for  a  change  of  home.  He  was  still  so  feeble  that 
he  was  rather  listless  and  querulous;  but  when  she  told 
him  the  sort  of  flat  she  wanted  nearer  town,  and  the 
sprt  of  furniture.  Gaga  caught  fire,  and  became  enthusias- 
tic. His  eyes  glowed.  Much  more  gently  than  ever  be- 
fore, and  to  that  extent  more  tolerably,  he  kissed  her. 
He  proclaimed  Sally's  genius.  Everything  she  suggested 
appeared  to  him  more  excellent  than  the  last  thing:  if 
she  had  been  a  silly  girl  she  might  have  been  made  reck- 
less. But  having  interested  him  she  became  rather  afraid 
of  his  eager  support.  The  flat  was  to  be  her  flat.  She 
did  not  want  Gaga  blundering  in  with  enthusiastic  mis- 
takes. And  another  thing  was  that  the  doctor  warned 
her  about  the  dangers  of  excitement. 

"Your  husband's  not  a  strong  man,  Mrs.  Merrick," 


264  COQUETTE 

he  said.     "He's  not  even  a  sound  man.     You  don't  want 
him  to  get  too  excited.    It's  bad  for  him.    Go  slow." 

"I'll  try,"  agreed  Sally.  But  it  was  with  a  shrug. 
"You  see  how  he  is.  I  mustn't  be  out  of  his  sight ;  and 
yet  something's  got  to  be  done." 

"You're  a  very  plucky  girl,"  remarked  the  doctor, 
feebly ;  and  he  went  away. 

Sally's  shrug  had  been  sincere.  She  would  have  pre- 
ferred to  do  everything  alone;  but  to  do  so  would  have 
been  to  make  Gaga  fully  as  ill  as  any  over-excitement 
could  do.  They  accordingly  went  about  together,  look- 
ing for  a  flat.  They  discovered  one  at  last  in  May  fair; 
and  decorations  were  begun  there.  It  was  not  a  large 
flat,  and  the  rooms  were  not  all  large ;  but  it  was  cosy,  and 
the  furnishing  of  it  was  going  to  give  Sally  a  satisfac- 
tion hard  to  exceed.  The  two  of  them  exulted  in  the  flat. 
They  walked  through  and  through  it.  They  saw  the 
wallpapers  and  the  paint,  and  admired  everything  in  the 
most  delicious  manner  possible. 

And  then  the  doctor's  warning  was  justified.  Gaga 
collapsed.  He  fainted  in  the  flat,  overcome  by  the  smell 
of  paint  and  the  excitement  of  proprietorship.  With  the 
help  of  one  of  the  painters  Sally  took  him  home  in  a  cab 
and  put  him  to  bed.  The  doctor  arrived,  nodded,  and 
was  not  in  the  least  surprised  or  alarmed.  Sally  was 
merely  to  be  Gaga's  nurse  once  more.  It  did  not  matter 
to  the  doctor,  who  had  no  interest  in  Gaga  except  as  a 
patient. 

"It's  rough  on  you,  though,"  he  said  to  Sally.  He  was 
a  bald  man  of  fifty,  with  a  cold  eye  and  a  cold,  fish-like, 
hand.  He  was  interested  in  nothing  outside  his  pro- 
fession and  his  meals.  To  him  Sally  was  a  plucky  little 
thing;  but  Sally  could  not  find  that  he  thought  anything 
more  about  her.  She  shrugged  again.  "So  sorry,"  said 
the  doctor.     "Good-bye." 


CONSEQUENCES  265 

When  he  had  gone,  Sally  frowned.  Bother!  All  her 
plans  were  interrupted.  Her  energies  were  subdued. 
Thoughtfully,  she  began  to  consider  how  far  she  might 
act  alone.  She  wondered  whether  she  might  persuade 
Gaga  to  let  her  go  out  in  the  mornings  or  the  afternons. 
He  must  do  so,  and  yet  she  knew  he  would  not  like  it. 
Although  the  decision  always  lay  with  her,  he  had  the 
sick  and  nervous  man's  fussy  wish  to  seem  to  make  a 
choice.  He  wanted  to  be  there,  to  be  heard,  to  announce 
Sally's  decision  in  a  loud  voice  as  his  own. 

"What  a  man  he  is !"  thought  Sally.  "Big  kid.  Got  to 
have  a  say  in  everything.  And  he  can't!"  The  last 
words  were  spoken  aloud,  so  vehemently  did  she  feel 
them.     "He  can't,  because  he  doesn't  know.     0-o-oh!" 

She  beat  one  hand  upon  the  other,  in  a  sudden  passion. 
For  a  moment  she  had  an  unexpected  return  of  hysteria. 
And  as  she  took  two  or  three  fierce  paces  Sally  without 
warning  felt  dizzy.  She  clung  to  a  chair;  and  the  dizzi- 
ness immediately  passed.  It  frightened  her,  none  the 
less,  because  she  had  been  feeling  unwell  for  some  days, 
and  she  had  a  horror  of  illness. 

"Here,  here!"  she  exclaimed.  "None  of  that.  / 
mustn't  get  ill.  Oh,  lor!  If  I  was  to  get  ill  wouldn't 
there  be  a  shimozzle!  Gaga'd  go  off  his  head.  And 
everything  else — pouf !" 

It  amused  her  to  realise  this.  It  made  her  forget  the 
unexplained  sick  dizziness  which  had  given  rise  to  her 
reflections,  because  the  thing  which  Sally  above  every- 
thing else  had  always  desired  was  to  be  as  important  as 
she  now  found  herself.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  she  was 
dominating  a  world  which  she  had  long  since  determined 
to  conquer. 


266  COQUETTE 


XIV 


During  the  week  following,  Sally  had  no  time  for  any^ 
thing  but  atendance  upon  Gaga.  She  was  herself  feeling 
sick  and  wretched;  and  Gaga  was  very  ill  indeed.  He 
was  sometimes  extremely  feeble,  so  that  a  lethargy  fell 
upon  him  and  he  lay  so  quiet  that  Sally  believed  him  to 
be  asleep.  But  at  her  first  movement  he  would  unclose 
his  eyes  and  groan  her  name,  groping  with  his  fingers 
to  detain  her.  So  she  sat  in  his  big  square  bedroom 
with  the  drab  walls  and  the  plain  furniture,  watching  the 
daylight  fade  and  pondering  to  herself.  It  was  a  gloomy 
period,  and  it  had  a  perceptible  effect  upon  her  vitality. 
At  other  times  Gaga  would  rally,  would  even  sit  up  and 
talk  in  his  old  stammer,  his  grey  face  whitened  and  sharp- 
ened by  illness.  Always  he  demanded  her  kisses,  although 
at  times  she  had  such  horror  of  being  made  love  to  by 
one  so  ill  that  she  was  pricked  by  a  perfect  frenzy  of 
nerves.  He  would  sit  by  the  fire,  passing  his  thin  hands 
across  her  shoulders,  stooping  and  caressing  her  and 
catching  her  neck  with  his  fingers  in  order  to  bring  her 
cheek  the  more  submissively  to  his  own.  His  lips  were 
ever  encroaching,  and  his  fevered  clasp  was  so  incessant 
and  so  vibrant  with  overstrung  excitement  as  to  create  a 
sense  of  repulsion.  It  was  a  tyranny,  to  which  Sally 
listlessly  yielded  because  she  had  not  the  spirit  to  resist. 
She  also  knew  that  resistance  would  make  him  ill  again; 
and  however  much  she  chafed  at  his  kisses  she  chafed 
still  more  at  the  constant  attention  demanded  by  Gaga's 
state  of  health,  which  kept  her  ever  there  and  delayed 
intolerably  the  execution  of  those  plans  which  would  have 
interposed  a  relief  from  these  intimacies.  Then  again  he 
would  be  seized  with  fits  of  vomiting  which  shook  his 
frame  and  made  him  so  ill  that  he  had  to  be  helped  back 
to  bed  and  comforted  as  if  he  were  a  child.     It  was  a 


CONSEQUENCES  267 

weary  time,  much  shorter  than  it  appeared  to  be  in  hef 
slow  watching  of  the  clock;  and  she  could  not  have  en- 
dured it  at  all  if  her  resolution  had  been  less  tough. 
Sometimes,  too,  Sally  knew  that  she  was  rather  fond  of 
Gaga.  Her  feeling  for  him  was  a  mixture  of  emotion; 
but  she  never  actively  disliked  him,  even  when  she  was 
bored  by  his  constant  show  of  possessiveness.  The  truth 
was  that  she  had  grown  to  be  afraid.  She  was  like  a 
Frankenstein,  and  her  monstrous  plan  had  become  too 
great  to  be  carried  through  alone.  She  was  frightened 
that  Gaga  would  die;  and  she  did  not  want  him  to  die. 
He  was  necessary  to  her,  because  at  present  he  was  the 
key  to  her  scheme  of  immediate  life. 

Each  evening  Miss  Summers  came;  and  the  tale  she 
brought  of  orders  given  and  executed  was  satisfactory. 
But  even  Miss  Summers  knew  that  things  were  not  going 
well.  All  that  practical  direction  which  Madam  had 
brought  to  the  business  was  lost.  Everything  that  had 
given  distinction  in  the  choice  of  material  and  style  was 
in  danger.  There  were  new  purchases  to  be  made,  and 
new  designs  furnished.  All  that  vast  part  in  the  busi- 
ness which  occurred  before  a  custom.er  entered  into  nego- 
tiations had  been  managed  entirely  by  Madam,  and  it  was 
suspended  in  her  absence.  Some  of  this  work  was  rou- 
tine, and  could  be  conducted  without  her;  but  as  the 
days  passed  it  became  evident  that  important  matters 
were  being  delayed,  that  they  were  accumulating,  that 
unless  something  could  be  done  quickly  to  check  the  slide 
the  business  would  become  mechanical  and  its  individ- 
uality be  destroyed.  Thus  Sally  learnt  that  her  ambition 
had  led  her  to  grasp  at  power  which  she  could  not  wield. 
If  she  had  been  able  to  go  to  work  she  could  have  learnt 
very  easily.  She  had  such  quick  taste,  and  such  confi- 
dence, that,  with  Miss  Summers  at  her  side,  in  spite  of 
many  mistakes,  she  could  have  dealt  with  much  that  was 


268  COQUETTE 

now  slipping.  But  she  was  unable  to  leave  Gaga.  When 
she  tried  to  explain  the  needs  of  the  moment  to  him  Gaga 
turned  weakly  away,  incapable  of  grasping  more  than  the 
fact  that  she  was  his  wife  and  that  he  needed  her.  At 
speech  concerning  the  business  he  shrugged  his  should- 
ers, and  became  stupidly  ineffective. 

One  night,  when  she  was  in  bed,  Sally  thought  of  all 
this,  and  was  first  despondent  and  then  dispirited.  The 
mood  intensified.  Once  it  had  gripped  her  she  knew  no 
peace.  She  was  in  helpless  torment.  Before  she  knew 
quite  what  she  was  doing  she  had  drawn  the  bedclothes 
over  her  head  and  was  bitterly  sobbing.  Little  disjointed 
phrases  were  jerked  from  her  lips  in  this  painful  aban- 
donment to  fear  and  the  sense  of  lonely  powerlessness. 
She  was  at  last  unrestrained  in  her  admission  of  failure. 
She  did  not  know  .  .  .  she  did  not  knozu.  By  herself 
she  could  do  nothing.  And  there  was  nobody  to  whom 
she  could  turn  for  succour.  Her  mother  was  useless, 
Mrs.  Perce  was  useless.  Her  one  support  was  Miss 
Summers,  and  Miss  Summers  this  evening  had  been  un- 
able to  hide  her  trepidation,  but  had  sat  licking  her  lips 
and  blinking  her  eyes,  which  held  such  concern  that  she 
could  in  no  way  disguise  the  cause  of  her  gloom.  Miss 
Summers  also,  then,  was  full  of  foreboding;  and  Sally, 
tied  fast  here,  a  child,  thrown  off  her  balance  by  illness 
and  nervous  excitement,  had  lost  confidence  in  her  star. 

When  she  was  calm  again  she  slept;  but  in  the  morn- 
ing the  preoccupation  returned  to  her,  and  her  head 
ached,  and  the  tears  filled  her  eyes  as  though  she  were 
fighting  against  grief.  And  her  first  visit  to  Gaga  dis- 
gusted her  and  made  her  feel  the  more  miserable.  She 
had  often  been  more  poignantly  affected,  but  never  had 
she  experienced  such  a  sense  of  complete  distaste  for  life. 
She  was  like  a  child  given  an  impossible  task  to  perform ; 
and  instead  of  being  able  to  rise  on  the  wings  of  her  ar- 


CONSEQUENCES  269 

rogance  as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  doing,  Sally  was 
weighed  down  by  leaden  sickness  and  fear.  She  went 
slowly  downstairs  to  have  her  breakfast,  and  sat  soli- 
tary in  the  big  brown  dining-room  which  overlooked  a 
square  of  grass  and  a  high  wall.  A  dismal  grey  op- 
pressed the  atmosphere,  and  an  autumn  chill.  She  could 
not  eat,  could  only  sniff  despairingly  and  drink  a  cup  of 
tea  and  wander  to  the  fire  and  lay  her  forehead  against 
the  mantelpiece,  which  was  cooling  indeed,  but  without 
comfort.  Its  hard  coldness  was  unbearable.  Sally's 
arms  crept  up  as  a  pillow.  She  stared  downwards  at 
the  dead  fire. 

"O-o-oh!"  she  groaned  bitterly.  "I  wish  I  was  dead! 
I  do  wish  I  was  dead!"  And  at  the  sound  of  her 
wretched  voice  Sally  once  more  gave  way  completely  and 
began  to  sob  aloud.  She  was  beaten,  and  her  spirit 
was  gone. 

XV 

And  so  more  days  passed,  each  filled  with  a  sort  of 
numbing  dread.  Sally  thought  of  the  business,  of  her 
future,  of  Toby — from  whom  she  had  received  several 
letter  reflecting  his  moods  of  ferociousness  and  resent- 
ment,— and  of  the  bonds  which  kept  her  tied  to  the  house. 
She  knew  during  all  this  time  no  peace.  She  grew  thin- 
ner, and  began  to  take  less  care  of  herself.  She  was  not 
aware  of  the  beginning  of  a  loss  of  self-respect,  but  it 
was  there.  She — she  who  had  always  been  so  strict  in 
regard  to  her  toilette  and  dress,  whatever  her  state  of 
mind — went  down  to  breakfast  one  morning  in  a  kimono 
which  she  had  found  in  Madam's  wardrobe  and  short- 
ened for  herself.  It  was  a  proof  that  she  no  longer 
cared  for  her  appearance.  She  lay  through  the  nights 
often  only  half -asleep,  in  a  stupor  which  presently  led 
her  to  an  attitude  almost  of  indifference  to  the  needs  of 


270  COQUETTE 

the  day.  And  for  the  rest  of  the  time  Sally  was  so 
lethargic  that  it  one  morning  occurred  to  her  to  think 
that  she  had  caught  from  Gaga  whatever  was  the  un- 
named illness  from  which  he  was  suffering.  The  thought, 
once  arisen,  flew  to  her  head.  It  became  a  horror.  She 
had  heard  of  bad  fruit  corrupting  fruit  that  was  sound; 
and  this  was  a  new  preoccupation  for  her.  When  Gaga 
would  have  kissed  her  lips  she  turned  away  in  sudden 
nausea,  fighting  instinctively  against  a  subjection  which 
her  indifference  had  hitherto  made  allowable.  And  she 
had  several  times  to  invent  an  excuse  to  be  alone,  so 
active  had  her  distress  become;  and  in  these  absences 
she  would  walk  vehemently  up  and  down  the  dining-room 
until  she  was  forced  by  exhaustion  to  sit  or  by  a  mes- 
sage from  Gaga  to  return  to  his  room. 

"Why,  whatever's  come  to  me?"  she  demanded.  "It's 
awful!    I'm  ill." 

The  doctor  called  every  day  to  see  Gaga,  and  spoke  as 
though  there  was  a  definite  improvement  in  his  patient's 
health.  The  medicine  Gaga  was  taking  would  finally  give 
him  strength.  Already  he  was  beginning  to  eat  more, 
and  beginning  also  to  retain  what  he  had  eaten, 

"It's  nerves,  you  know,"  the  doctor  told  Sally  one  day. 
"Mere  nerves.  Your  husband's  run  down.  He's  not 
strong.  He's  had  a  shock.  As  soon  as  he's  well  enough 
he  ought  to  be  got  away  for  a  holiday.  You  take  him 
away.  About  the  end  of  next  week,  if  he  makes  good 
progress.     Take  him  to  the  sea," 

"He  hates  it,"  cried  Sally.     "Upsets  him." 

"Oh,"  The  doctor  considered.  "Where  did  you  go 
for  your  honeymoon?  Penterby — well,  that  would  do,  if 
you  can  take  drives  to  the  sea.  He  doesn't  want  too 
bracing  a  place.  And  now,  Mrs,  Merrick,  I've  been 
noticing  you  lately.  You're  run  down,  too.  We  can't 
have  you  ill.    You've  been  very  plucky;  but  you've  had  a 


CONSEQUENCES  271 

great  strain,  and  all  this  nursing  has  worn  you  out.  I'm 
going  to  have  a  look  at  you  .  .  ." 

Sally  was  conscious  of  a  sinking  of  the  heart. 

"I'm  quite  all  right!"  she  protested.  She  could  not 
have  told  what  intuition  had  created  this  panic;  but  her 
heart  had  begun  instantly  to  thump  in  her  breast,  and  she 
became,  as  she  had  done  once  before,  almost  dizzy.  She 
could  not  say  anything  more.  She  submitted  to  his  ex- 
amination, and  answered  his  questions.  It  was  an  ordeal, 
and  she  watched  his  serious  face  with  its  cold  eyes,  and 
felt  his  chilly  hand,  and  guessed  at  what  he  would  say. 
The  doctor  seemed  appallingly  slow,  appallingly  deliber- 
ate and  immovable  and  ruthless  in  his  perceptions.  She 
was  terrified.  The  room  wavered  before  her;  and  her 
fright  grew  greater  and  greater.  He  was  very  patient. 
She  felt  strange  trust  in  him ;  but  always  the  same  dread, 
which  made  her  teeth  chatter  a  little.  Soon  he  had  fin- 
ished; and  then  he  looked  at  her  with  a  slight  smile  and 
a  nod. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  reflectively.  "Oh,  there's  nothing  to 
be  alarmed  about  at  all.  Nothing.  All  you've  got  to  do 
is  to  take  care  of  yourself,  and  not  worry;  and  it  will 
do  you  good  to  get  away.  Women  in  your  condition, 
especially  if  it's  the  first,  often  ,  ,  ." 

"My  condition!"  exclaimed  Sally.  It  was  like  a  blow. 
"Doctor!" 

"Nothing  to  be  alarmed  at,"  he  repeated.  "You'll  be 
very  happy  after  a  bit.  You  know,  you're  going  to  have 
a  baby.  He  stood  away  from  her,  smiling  in  a  friendly 
way. 

"A  baby!"  Sally  was  shaken  from  head  to  foot.  She 
stared  at  the  doctor  in  an  extremity  of  horror.  "A 
baby!" 

He  patted  her  arm.  Before  she  was  able  to  collect  her- 
self he  had  gone — a  busy  doctor  with  a  long  round  and 


272  COQUETTE 

a  large  practice.  Sally  sat  looking  at  the  fire.  Then  she 
rose.  A  scream  came  to  her  lips.  Again  and  again  she 
shuddered.     A  baby!     A  baby!    Toby's  baby! 

xvi 

The  news  confirmed  what  Sally  had  never  consciously 
thought,  but  what  she  now  felt  she  had  known  for  days. 
If  anything  had  been  needed  to  complete  her  despair  it 
was  this.  She  felt  suicidal.  She  could  have  borne  ill- 
ness, even  failure  in  the  .business,  even  all  the  compli- 
cations of  distress  which  she  had  been  already  exper- 
iencing; but  the  knowledge  of  ultimate  disgrace  so 
inevitable  drove  her  mad.  Vainly  Sally's  mind  flew  in 
every  direction  for  relief — ^the  doctor  might  be  wrong; 
the  coming  of  babies  could  be  prevented;  perhaps  Gaga 
might  never  know — she  could  persuade  him  to  go  away, 
could  go  away  herself,  could  do  a  hundred  things  to 
tide  over  the  difficulty.  And  at  the  end  of  all  these 
twistings  of  the  mind  she  would  find  herself  still  terribly 
in  danger,  and  would  fight  against  hideous  screaming 
fits  by  lying  on  the  floor  or  on  a  couch  and  crushing  her 
handkerchief  into  her  mouth.  She  was  quite  overcome 
by  her  new  disaster,  the  fruit  of  wild  temptation,  and 
the  consequence  of  her  whole  course  of  action.  Used 
as  Sally  was  to  meeting  every  emergency  with  cool 
shrewdness,  she  could  not  bring  to  her  present  situation 
the  necessary  philosophy,  because  she  was  ill,  and  fear- 
stricken,  and  made  crazy  by  the  impossibility  of  finding 
a  solution  to  her  anxieties. 

Hour  after  hour  was  spent  with  horrible  nightmarish 
imaginings,  in  frenzied  self-excuses  and  improvised  ex- 
pedients. And  never  did  there  come  one  moment  of 
peace  in  the  midst  of  all  this  panic.  Sally  had  ho  friend. 
More  and  more  she  began  to  realise  this.     She  had  no 


CONSEQUENCES  273 

friend.  She  had  made  use  of  people,  they  were  fond  of 
her,  would  submit  to  her;  but  she  had  no  friend.  More 
than  anything  in  the  world  she  now  needed  a  friend. 
There  was  nobody  in  whom  she  could  confide,  from 
whose  love  and  sympathy  she  could  draw  the  strength 
which  at  this  point  she  so  greatly  needed.  She  had  a 
husband,  a  lover,  a  mother — to  none  of  these  could  she 
go  with  the  truth.  It  needed  all  Sally's  egotism  to  make 
the  truth  seem  capable  of  justification,  or  indeed  to  make 
it  seem  even  credible,  so  different  is  the  standard  by  which 
we  judge  our  own  actions  from  that  which  we  apply  to 
others.  Sally  saw  everything  so  much  in  relation  to  all 
that  she  had  ever  thought  and  felt  that  she  could  not 
understand  how  her  impulses  might  horrify  one  coming 
to  them  only  after  translation  into  action.  She  only  knew 
that  she  could  not  betray  herself  unreservedly  to  any- 
body with  the  hope  of  being  found  innocent.  The  knowl- 
edge made  her  at  first  full  of  terror;  and  the  terror  and 
the  successive  elaborate  self -explanation,  given  to  an 
unresponsive  silence  which  she  could  easily  suppose  to  be 
hostile,  made  her  obstinate;  then  she  became  the  more 
passionately  afraid.  She  could  have  stormed,  lied,  wrig- 
gled ;  but  she  could  never  hope  to  escape  the  consequences 
that  she  dreaded. 

At  times  Sally  could  not  bear  to  be  with  Gaga  at  all. 
She  told  him  she  was  ill,  and  that  the  doctor  said  she 
must  go  out;  and  in  spite  of  his  protests  she  would  run 
from  the  house  and  walk  rapidly  for  an  hour  about  Kens- 
ington, and  even  into  Hyde  Park  and  Kensington  Gar- 
dens. The  weather  made  no  difference  to  her.  She  was 
desperate,  and  must  seek  some  relief  from  the  horror  of 
being  cooped  up  in  that  house  with  her  secret.  She  had 
begged  the  doctor  to  give  no  hint  of  it  to  Gaga,  and  had 
tried  to  pretend  to  herself  that  he  had  been  mistaken  in 
his  diagnosis;  but  her  pretence  was  of  no   avail,   be- 


274  COQUETTE 

cause  each  day  she  became  more  certain  that  he  had 
been  right.  And  still  she  could  not  think  of  any  way 
out.  She  had  been  betrayed  by  a  single  act  of  irresisti- 
ble passion. 

Presently,  as  her  frenzy  spent  itself,  Sally  began  to 
think  more  collectedly.  She  remembered  Toby's  last 
letter.  She  began  to  think  of  him.  She  thought  even 
that  she  could  run  away  and  be  divorced  and  abandon 
all  her  schemes  for  the  sake  of  the  baby.  But  as  soon 
as  Sally  had  such  an  imagining  she  knew  that  it  was  an 
impossibility  for  her.  Only  as  a  last  resource  could  she 
accept  her  disaster.  All  her  self-confidence  fought 
against  it.  She  must  find  some  other  way.  At  first  she 
thought  it  would  be  simple  to  do  so;  but  as  her  brain 
worked  upon  the  problem  she  found  so  many  difficulties 
in  the  way  that  she  again  lost  hope.  The  baby  would 
ruin  everything.  Finally  the  return  of  Toby  seemed  to 
her  to  be  the  first  necessity.  She  must  see  him.  She 
could  do  nothing  until  she  saw  him.  Longing  seized  her 
— a  quick  sense  that  at  least  he  was  her  lover,  and  there- 
fore her  partner.  She  wrote  to  Toby,  asking  him  to  come 
and  meet  her  as  soon  as  he  reached  London.  Then  she 
waited,  her  exhausted  torments  having  left  her  in  a 
mood  of  glittering-eyed  sullen  misery  that  might  at  any 
moment  rise  sharply  to  angry  shrillness.  Calm  hid  genu- 
ine fear,  and  it  was  the  calm  of  one  who  has  no  hope 
other  than  self-control. 

Gradually  Sally  came  to  know  the  big  house  in  exact 
detail,  because  in  these  days  she  was  forced  to  find  occu- 
pation for  herself.  The  drawing-room,  the  dining-room, 
all  the  rooms  upstairs,  were  ransacked.  They  held  no 
treasures,  indeed;  but  they  gave  Sally  a  rather  distract- 
ing interest  because  they  aroused  her  sense  of  possession. 
She  had  wanted  to  own  things — and  these,  although  they 
were  not  what  she  had  pictured,  were  property.     There 


CONSEQUENCES  275 

was  the  beginning  of  bourgeoise  acquisitiveness  and  pride 
of  ownership  in  her,  after  all.  Scratch  the  worker  and 
you  found  the  bourgeoise.  There  were  carefully-hoarded 
lengths  of  rich  material  in  the  cupboards,  lace  and  rib- 
bons and  shawls  in  different  chests  of  drawers;  upon 
Madam's  dressing-table  was  a  manicure  set  and  a  set  of 
tortoiseshell-backed  brushes;  in  the  drawers  of  the  same 
table  were  perfumes  in  great  variety.  Far  below  stairs, 
Sally  found  the  wine  cellar,  and  although  it  was  small 
in  size  it  contained  more  kinds  of  wine  than  she  had 
been  able  to  imagine  hitherto,  and  filled  her  with  an  al- 
most grinning  satisfaction.  Not  yet  was  her  sense  of 
social  ambition  roused;  but  it  was  born.  She  began  to 
look  ahead.  Parties,  with  the  wine  as  a  feature  of  them, 
were  imagined.  She  began,  in  a  manner,  to  picture  what 
she  would  lose  by  defeat.  The  baby  would  ruin  all.  And 
she  was  helpless,  because  she  could  speak  to  nobody.  She 
was  condemned.  There  would  be  ruin,  dreadful  ruin, 
and  she  was  glimpsing  the  very  things  which  she 
might  have  enjoyed.  Fresh  paroxysms  shook  Sally. 
Somehow — somehow,  and  by  some  means  not  as  yet  to 
be  discovered,  she  must  save  the  situation.  And  Toby 
must  save  her.  Toby  must  find  a  way.  He  must  do  it 
because  he  loved  her.  It  was  his  duty.  He  must  find  a 
way  to  save  her.  And  even  as  she  frantically  said  this, 
Sally  knew  that  she  herself  must  control  the  situation. 
Thus  early  in  her  life  she  had  learnt  that  for  a  girl  of 
her  type  men,  whatever  her  desire  for  any  other  state, 
must  always  be  employed  under  her  direction.  Toby 
would  obey.  He  might  do  the  donkey-work ;  but  in  fact 
Sally  must  lead.  It  was  her  fate,  the  fate  of  the  girl 
with  her  own  star  to  follow. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  upon  Toby  that  the  immediate 
future  depended.  Not  yet  has  woman  the  power  to  at- 
tain her  ends  except  by  and  through  men.     Sally  waited 


276  COQUETTE 

in  ever-increasing  excitement  for  some  word  from  Toby, 
some  hint  of  his  coming.  She  was  kept  within  the  house 
at  all  times  except  during  her  short  flights  in  the  morn- 
ing or  afternoon.  She  could  not  be  long  away  from 
the  house.  And  she  must  rely  upon  a  letter,  and  then 
perhaps  a  brief  meeting,  for  her  purposes.  The  time  was 
going.  Gaga  was  getting  better,  was  growing  more  and 
more  like  the  man  in  whose  company  she  had  gone  to 
Penterby,  His  demand  upon  her  presence  was  increas- 
ing in  power,  because  he  was  sitting  up,  leaving  his  room, 
coming  in  search  of  her.  Sally  felt  that  already  he  was 
beginning  to  exercise  an  inquisition.  A  tremor  shook  her 
nerves.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  her  that  Gaga's  glance 
held  a  strangeness,  almost  a  faint  suspicion.  When  she 
thought  that  she  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  akin  to  aver- 
sion. 

Aversion  had  not  yet  arrived.  Gaga  was  still  to  be 
despised.  But  Sally  already  felt  that  she  might  presently 
find  her  task  of  deception  very  hard  under  the  constant 
scrutiny  of  such  futile  devotedness  as  he  displayed.  And 
Toby  did  not  write.  She  had  no  means  of  knowing 
where  he  was,  whether  the  voyage  upon  which  he  was 
engaged  would  be  long  or  short,  how  much  more  time 
must  elapse  before  their  meeting.  The  suspense  was 
killing  her.  More  than  once,  hearing  Gaga  calling  to  her, 
Sally  had  hidden  from  him,  and,  at  discovery,  had  been 
unable  to  conceal  the  hard  coldness  of  her  feeling  for 
him.  If  Toby  would  only  come!  If  he  would  only 
cornel  She  thought  that  her  nerve  must  before  long 
give  way,  and  once  it  had  gone  she  would  be  prematurely 
ruined.  She  felt  trapped.  She  even,  desperately,  would 
slip  on  a  coat  at  nights  and  walk  up  and  down  outside 
the  house,  in  case  Toby  should  be  lurking  near  on  the 
chance  of  seeing  her.  She  thought  he  might  come  thus. 
And  on  each  occasion  when  she  went  out  of  the  house  in 


CONSEQUENCES  277 

this  way  she  returned  to  find  Gaga  standing  in  the  dining- 
room,  with  the  door  open  in  such  a  way  that  he  could 
command  a  view  of  the  inside  of  the  front  door.  The 
knowledge  that  he  was  waiting  for  her,  and  watching 
her,  filled  Sally  with  cold  fury.  His  innocent  delight  at 
her  return  had  the  air  of  being  a  pretence.  She  could 
not  suppose  his  eager  caresses  to  be  other  than  penitence 
for  suspicion  or  an  assertion  of  his  claims  upon  her  in 
perpetuity.  The  distress  made  her  unresponsive,  even 
repressive.  Her  foot  tapped  upon  the  floor  even  while 
she  could  not  wholly  quell  his  convulsive  nervous  em- 
brace.   And  Toby  did  not  come. 

At  last,  one  evening,  her  guess  was  justified.  She  had 
taken  her  coat,  and  had  walked  to  the  end  of  the  road; 
and  just  as  she  turned  back,  without  hope,  she  saw  a 
burly  figure  almost  opposite.  It  was  Toby,  in  a  sailor's 
short  thick  jacket,  and  his  neck  muffled,  and  a  cap  over 
his  eyes.  He  was  standing  in  the  shadow,  and  as  she 
crossed  to  him  allowed  Sally  to  enter  that  same  embrac- 
ing darkness  which  safely  hid  them  both.  She  gave  a 
little  savage  cry,  and  was  in  his  strong  arms,  almost 
crazed  with  relief  and  her  physical  sense  of  his  so  long 
withheld  nearness.  She  could  feel  herself  shuddering 
and  trembling,  but  she  was  not  directly  conscious  of  this. 
All  she  felt  was  a  passionate  joy  at  being  able  to  abandon 
all  her  nervous  self-control  to  this  firmness  and  clenched 
vigour. 

"Oh,  Toby,  Toby!"  she  whimpered,  clutching  him;  and 
then  no  more  for  several  minutes.  Toby  did  not  speak. 
He  hugged  Sally  until  she  was  breathless,  and  his  hot 
kiss  made  her  cheek  burn.  She  pressed  her  forehead 
with  all  her  strength  against  his  breast,  and  longed  that 
in  this  moment  she  might  for  ever  lose  all  knowledge 
of  the  trials  which  beset  her.     The  trembling  persisted 


278  COQUETTE 

for  a  long  time;  and  then,  as  she  was  comforted,  it 
began  to  subside. 

"My  girl,  my  girl!"  muttered  Toby,  in  a  thick  voice, 
warm  against  her  ear. 

"Toby,  listen  .  .  .  Toby,  I'm  going  to  have  a  baby — 
it's  your  baby.  What  shall  I  do?  Toby!"  Sally  clung 
to  him.    "I'm  so  frightened,  Toby." 

"Baby?  Christ!"  As  suddenly,  he  repulsed  her. 
"You  say  it's  me.  It's  a  lie!  How  d'you  know?  You 
little  liar,  you.     What's  your  game?" 

"Of  course  it's  yours,"  fiercely  cried  Sally.  "I  told 
you." 

"D'you  think  I  believe  that !"  He  was  brutally  incred- 
ulous. He  held  her  away.  "Why,  you  dirty  little  liar, 
you'd  swear  anything." 

A  ghastly  anger  took  command  of  Sally. 

"I  told  you,"  she  steadily  repeated.  But  she  made  no 
attempt  to  go  back  to  him.  They  stood  quite  apart  in  the 
difficult  gloom. 

"I  know  you  did.  You  told  me  you  loved  me.  You 
married  him." 

"I  told  you,"  she  obstinately  went  on.  "I  told  you.  I 
don't  know  what  to  do.  He'll  find  out.  He's  bound  to 
find  out." 

"He'll  think  it's  his,"  said  Toby.  "By  God,  I  believe 
it  is." 

"You're  mad!"  cried  Sally.  "He  knows  it  can't  be. 
And  you  know  it,  too.  I  tell  you  I  shall  be  found  out 
and  disgraced."  She  was  not  crying.  Her  pride  was 
aroused.  She  was  full  of  scorn  for  one  who  could  dis- 
believe what  she  herself  knew  to  be  true. 

"Well?"  Toby  demanded.  "What  of  it?  Whose  fault 
is  it?"  He  was  brutally  angry,  and  a  little  frightened 
and  blustering.  They  were  still  at  arm's  length  in  the 
darkness  of  the  deserted  street.    There  was  no  lamp  near 


CONSEQUENCES  279 

them,  and  the  houses  behind  were  unlighted.  Sally's 
heart  fell.  She  was  almost  paralysed  at  Toby's  tone. 
She  was  puzzled  and  chagrined  and  angry.  And  then  a 
change  of  mood  came  abruptly  upon  her. 

"Don't  you  love  me?"  she  mournfully  asked.  "I 
thought  you  did.  I  love  you,  Toby.  I  thought  you  loved 
me. 

"I  used  to,"  came  the  grim  reply  out  of  the  night.  He 
sounded  cautious,  doubtful. 

"Not  any  longer?"  She  withdrew  herself  wholly  from 
him.  They  were  completely  sundered.  Toby  was  failing 
her.    She  was  stone  cold  to  him — cold  to  all  the  world. 

"Who  says  I  don't  ?"  asked  Toby,  in  a  grumbling  way. 
He  put  out  his  arm,  but  Sally  stepped  back.     "Here." 

"No,"  she  cried,  sharply.  Toby  was  not  to  take  her 
for  granted,  not  to  hold  her  and  make  love  to  her.  She 
was  in  earnest,  and  he  was  giving  himself  away  as  one 
who  had  taken  what  he  could  get. 

"I  do."     At  last  Toby's  sullen  assent  reached  Sally. 

"You  think  I'm  a  liar,"  she  persisted.  "You  don't 
love  me."    It  was  bitter. 

There  was  a  silence.  Toby  was  almost  invisible.  Both 
were  lost  in  the  dull  estrangement  of  that  troubled  mood. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  he  muttered.    "You  are  a  liar." 

"I'm  not.  It's  true  what  I  say.  If  Gaga  finds 
out  .  .  ." 

"Well?  What  d'you  suppose  /  can  do?  /  can't  do 
anything.     It's  you  who's  got  to  do  something." 

Sally  thought  for  a  moment  at  that  savagely  bullying 
tone,  which  was  without  love  or  understanding.  She  had 
a  sudden  sweep  of  hatred  of  Toby  as  an  animal  that  took 
no  heed  of  responsibility  or  consequences.  The  chill  she 
had  felt  already  deepened  and  filled  her  heart.  Her  lone- 
liness was  intensified.     She  gave  a  short  laugh  of  bitter 


280  COQUETTE 

distraction.  A  greater  fierceness  shook  her,  and  she  be- 
gan to  walk  slowly  away  from  him. 

"Oh,  well  then,  I'm  done,"  she  said,  with  cold  reck- 
lessness.   "All  right." 

"Sally!"  He  came  slowly  after  her;  but  his  pursuit 
was  not  the  old  vigorous  insistence  for  which  she  longed. 
He  wanted  Sally — not  a  baby,  not  a  difficulty.  He  would 
shirk  anything  but  the  fulfilment  of  his  passion.  In- 
stantly, she  felt  that  he  never  would  have  married  her 
if  the  time  had  come. 

"No!"  It  was  a  harsh  cry.  "Don't  touch  me.  Goon, 
push  off  .  .  .  I'm  done  with  you."  She  walked  more 
rapidly.  She  was  only  a  little  way  now  from  the  house, 
a  hatless,  disconsolate  figure,  oppressed  and  rigid. 

"Sally."  But  he  was  still  slow  to  follow.  Sally 
cracked  her  fingers.  She  was  finished  with  him.  Her 
heart  and  her  feet  alike  were  leaden.  She  was  too  far 
gone  for  tears  or  sobs.  It  was  not  anguish  that  she  felt ; 
but  bitterness  so  great  that  she  could  only  hate  Toby. 
She  had  loved  him  so  much!  And  this  was  the  end  of 
him.  She  felt  her  love  killed  at  a  blow,  and  she  was 
without  resource. 

Suddenly  strong  fingers  were  upon  Sally's  shoulder. 
In  other  days  she  would  have  been  dominated.  Not  so 
now.  She  wrenched  herself  free,  and  walked  on.  There 
was  no  attempt  to  run.  She  was  finished  .  .  .  finished. 
Some  further  sound  she  heard;  but  it  was  unintelligible. 
Toby,  presented  with  a  real  problem  which  a  man  who 
loved  her  would  have  solved,  had  been  proved  a  doubt- 
ing coward.  She  felt  wronged,  deceived.  She  had  al- 
ways expected  violence  from  him,  but  she  had  always 
expected  him  to  know  that  she  truly  loved  him,  what- 
ever her  actions  might  seem  otherwise  to  suggest.  Reali- 
sation of  his  ignorance  destroyed  her.  Even  at  the  gate 
Sally  might  still  have  been  won ;  but  as  she  came  abreast 


CONSEQUENCES  281 

of  it  she  saw  that  the  front  door  was  open,  and  Gaga 
standing  upon  the  top  step.  Coldly,  she  shut  the  gate; 
and  walked  resolutely  up  the  steps.  Toby  was  left  dodg- 
ing out  of  the  circle  of  light,  a  pitiful  conspirator.  Gaga 
was  silhouetted,  a  long  lean  figure,  against  the  light  of 
the  hall.     He  peered  down  into  the  darkness. 

"Sally,  is  that  you?"  he  exclaimed.  "I  was  quite  anx- 
ious." 

"Were  you?"    It  was  listless,  scornful. 

As  she  passed  him,  Gaga  gazed  still  into  the  darkness. 

"Is  that  somebody  with  you?"  he  asked.  "It 
looks  .  .  ." 

Sally  went  into  the  house,  and  as  he  followed  her  she 
closed  the  front  door  quietly.  It  was  strange  to  come 
from  the  black  chilliness  of  the  street  into  this  new  solid 
warmth  and  comfort.  In  the  hall  they  faced  one  another. 
For  once  Sally  was  as  grey  as  he — as  grey  and  trembling. 

"I  thought  ...  I  thought  it  was  a  man,"  said  Gaga. 

"Oh,  did  you  ?"  Sally  slipped  off  her  coat,  and  threw 
it  upon  a  chair.     She  was  listening  intently. 

"Wasn't  it?"  Gaga  did  not  touch  her.  He  looked 
down  with  a  startled  expression.  "It  looked  like  a  man 
out  there  .  .  .  Wasn't  it?" 

"You'd  better  go  out  and  see,"  advised  Sally,  with 
snapping  teeth.  "Then  you'll  be  sure."  As  a  fury  pos- 
sessed her,  she  turned  upon  him  like  a  cat  at  bay,  all  her 
teeth  showing,  "Funny  if  you  were  spying  on  me  with- 
out any  reason,  wouldn't  it  be!" 

She  was  so  reckless  that  she  did  not  measure  conse- 
quences. She  was  in  no  mood  to  be  cautious  or  consid- 
erate. Leaving  him  there  Sally  went  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  when  Gaga  entered  upon  her  heels  she  went 
out  of  the  room  again  and  slowly  up  the  stairs. 


282  COQUETTE 


xvii 


But  all  the  time,  although  she  seemed  to  ignore  him, 
Sally  with  a  part  of  her  consciousness  was  listening  and 
watching.  She  dreaded  to  hear  the  groan  of  the  gate 
upon  its  rusted  hinges,  the  noise  of  a  knock,  or  the  gentle 
sound  which  the  front  door  would  make  if  Gaga  accepted 
her  challenge.  Her  heart  was  almost  silent  as  she  waited, 
and  then,  as  the  minutes  passed  without  interruption,  her 
relaxation  was  half  relief  and  half  disappointment. 
Something  within  her  had  craved  this  crisis  which  had 
not  arrived.  Some  sensual  longing  for  violence  was  frus- 
trate. Sally  was  alone  with  Gaga,  and  Gaga,  humble 
and  obedient,  was  in  her  track,  coming  slowly  and  af- 
fectionately after  her.  As  she  saw  from  the  landing  the 
top  of  his  dark,  grey-streaked  head  she  almost  screamed 
with  fury.  It  was  in  that  moment  that  aversion  for  him 
rose  in  a  tumult  from  her  heart.  She  hated  Toby,  but 
for  his  base  cruelty  alone.  She  hated  Gaga  for  his  in- 
escapable possessiveness  and  gentle  persecution.  It  was 
a  horror  to  Sally  in  her  abnormal  condition.  She  began 
to  run  up  the  next  flight  of  stairs,  and  tripped  upon  her 
skirt.  The  stumble  brought  some  little  sense  to  her.  She 
rose,  holding  the  balustrade.  Shot  through  and  through 
with  bitterness  as  she  was,  she  yet  clutched  at  sanity. 
When  Gaga  came  abreast  of  her  Sally  took  his  arm; 
and  they  completed  the  journey  together. 

"Sorry  I  was  beastly,"  she  said,  with  a  little  pinch  of 
the  arm.     "Got  the  jumps." 

"I  know  ...  I  know,"  whispered  Gaga.     "We'll  go 
away.     We'll  go  very  .  .  .  very  soon." 

"Now?"    Sally  demanded.    "To-morrow?     Could  we 
go  to-morrow?" 

"Well  .  .  .  well,  perhaps  not  .  .  .  to-morrow.     The 
day  after?"     He  was  hesitant,  and  did  not  oppose  her. 


CONSEQUENCES  283 

Sally's  lip  curled.  What  a  man!  Yes  .  ,  .  yes  .  .  . 
yes ;  but  the  baby !    She  was  again  desperately  shaken. 

"Why  not  to-morrow?"  she  cried,  almost  spitefully. 
"Why  hang  about?" 

Gaga  wavered.  He  began  to  kiss  her.  His  hands, 
holding  hers,  were  clammy.  She  had  a  glimpse  of  the 
black  space  under  his  eyes,  and  the  swollen  yellowness 
of  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  and  his  grey  cheeks,  so  lined 
and  creased,  and  the  dreadful  salmon  colour  of  his  dry 
lips.  In  his  arms  though  she  was,  Sally  shuddered  vio- 
lently, aversion  recurring  with  such  strength  that  she 
could  not  control  her  repugnance.  This  was  her  hus- 
band— her  hicshand.  Her  eyes  were  strained  away  from 
him. 

"You're  cold,"  Gaga  murmured.  "Poor  little  girl  .  .  . 
You're  .  .  .  you're  cold." 

"Yes,  I'm  cold,"  agreed  Sally,  with  a  violent  effort  for 
grim  self -repression.  "That's  what's  the  matter  with 
me.  I  stayed  out  too  long.  I  oughtn't  to  have  gone  out 
this  evening."  She  again  laughed  slightly,  her  laugh  so 
sneering  that  even  Gaga  looked  up  as  though  he  had  been 
startled. 

"We'll  go  to  bed  early,"  he  said.  "It's  cold  to-night. 
Let's  have  something  hot,  and  go  to  bed.  We  can't  have 
.  .  .  have  you  falling  ill.  It's  nursing  me  that's  made 
you  .  .  .  queer." 

"Yes,  it's  all  my  nursing."  Sally  spoke  in  a  dry  voice, 
and  when  he  released  her  she  went  over  to  the  fire  with- 
out heeding  Gaga,  and  looked  down  at  its  brightness. 
Still  her  ears  were  alert  to  catch  some  violence  below; 
and  as  there  was  none  her  heart  sank  once  more.  Toby 
was  gone.  She  had  dismissed  him  and  he  had  gone. 
She  was  more  forlornly  alone  than  ever.  If  Gaga  had 
not  been  with  her  she  must  have  sought  relief  in  some 
physical  effort,  some  vehement  thumping  of  the  mantel- 


284  COQUETTE 

piece  and  a  burst  into  wild  crying.  The  repression  which 
Sally  was  forced  to  exercise  tortured  her.  The  agony 
she  suffered  was  almost  unbearable.  Her  mouth  was 
stretched  in  a  horrible  grimace,  so  poignant  was  her  feel- 
ing. 

*T  .  .  .  I'd  like  something  hot,"  Gaga  proceeded,  in 
innocence,      "Some  .  .  .  some   cocoa  .  .  .  or  .  .  ." 

"I'll  get  you  some."  It  was  with  passionate  exaspera- 
tion that  Sally  spoke;  but  she  was  thankful  to  know  that 
she  might  leave  him  for  a  few  minutes.  The  room 
seemed  to  stifle  her.  She  plunged  to  the  door,  walk- 
ing past  Gaga  with  her  head  averted,  so  that  he  might 
not  see  her  face.  The  stairs  were  cold,  and  she  was 
upon  the  ground  floor  in  an  instant,  A  servant,  called 
from  below,  came  slowly  to  receive  instructions;  but 
there  was  no  cocoa  in  the  house.  Nothing?  No  coffee? 
Nothing  of  the  kind  was  available.  Still  thankful  for 
the  opportunity  of  turning  her  mind  to  details,  Sally  hur- 
ried upstairs  again.  Gaga  was  already  half-undressed, 
and  stood  in  front  of  the  fire  folding  his  coat.  His  thin- 
ness was  grotesque  in  the  bright  light  of  the  gas. 

"Oh  dear!"  he  cried.     "I  wanted  it." 

"All  the  shops'll  be  shut  now,"  declared  Sally. 

Gaga  thought  for  a  moment,  his  face  drawn.  He  was 
forced  to  sit  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"I  ...  I  used  .  .  .  used  to  have  cocoa  in  my  .  .  . 
my  study,"  he  said. 

"I'll  look."  Sally  went  down  to  the  half-landing  and 
into  the  small  room  which  Gaga  had  always  used  for 
evening  work  before  his  marriage.  It  was  quite  tiny, 
and  there  was  a  gas  fire  there,  and  an  armchair,  and 
above  the  fireplace  were  some  small  shelves  with  a  few 
books  upon  them.  Upon  other  shelves  were  many  tins 
and  packets  and  bottles,  most  of  them  containing  prep- 
arations  handled  by  the  firm   in  which  Gaga   had  an 


CONSEQUENCES  286 

interest.  Strange :  she  had  not  had  to  trouble  at  all  about 
that!  The  room  was  ver)'-  cold,  and  Sally  shivered  as 
she  stood  examining  the  contents  of  the  shelves.  The 
tins  and  packets  were  all  in  confusion,  large  and  small 
jostling  one  another;  and  many  had  their  descriptive 
labels  turned  to  the  wall.  Sally  read  upon  some  of  them 
words  the  meaning  of  which  she  could  not  understand. 
Nearly  all  of  them  were  chemicals  relating  to  the  en- 
richment of  soil  or  to  the  general  improvement  of  farm 
produce.  Some  were  quite  tiny,  with  little  crystals  in 
them.  Others  were  large,  and  still  within  wrappings. 
She  hurriedly  read  the  lettering,  darted  away  to  the  cup- 
board, back  again  to  the  shelves,  and  once  more  to  the 
cupboard.  Here  there  was  a  litter  of  papers  also,  for 
Gaga  was  temperamentally  fussy  and  untidy,  and  every- 
thing he  owned  was  in  disorder.  She  put  her  hand  upon 
a  cocoa-tin.  It  contained  white  pellets  which  looked  like 
rice.  There  was  another  tin,  and  this  was  half-full  of 
cocoa.  She  gave  a  cry  of  satisfaction.  And  then,  as 
she  replaced  the  lid  of  this  tin  she  saw  another;  straight 
before  her  eyes;  and  something  made  her  stop  as  if  she 
had  been  paralysed.  Fascinated,  she  read:  "POISON: 
This  preparation  of  Sheep  Dip  contains  Arsenic."  There 
followed  some  particulars,  of  which  she  caught  only  the 
word  "grains."  Poison !  Sally  cautiously  took  the  tin 
in  her  hand,  reading  again  more  carefully  the  words 
printed  upon  the  label.  Funny  thing  to  have  in  the  house, 
she  thought  .  .  .  Poison.  She  replaced  the  tin  upon  the 
cupboard  shelf,  and  carried  the  cocoa  to  Gaga. 

"That  cocoa?"  she  demanded.  "It's  all  mixed  up  with 
poison  and  stuff.    Don't  want  to  kill  you." 

Gaga,  by  this  time  in  bed,  looked  at  the  cocoa,  and 
proclaimed  its  reality. 

"Yes  .  .  .  that's  .  .  .  co  .  .  .  cocoa,"  he  stammered. 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  minutes  while  the  cocoa 


286  COQUETTE 

was  mixed;  and  they  txDth  drank  it  slowly,  Sally  con- 
scious, as  its  warmth  stole  through  her  body,  that  she 
was  less  extremely  unhappy  than  she  had  been.  She 
felt  a  little  better.  She  even  kissed  Gaga  in  wishing  him 
goodnight,  and  received  his  eager  kisses  in  return  with- 
out flinching.  At  last  she  too  went  to  her  bed  in  the 
adjoining  room,  and  undressed  and  lay  down  in  the 
darkness.  From  where  she  lay  Sally  could  hear  Gaga 
moving,  and  could  see  the  glimmer  of  the  light  in  his 
room  which  would  burn  until  the  morning.  And  as 
she  lay  there  all  her  tragic  thoughts  came  flooding  back 
with  the  intensity  of  a  nightmare.  The  horrors,  for  a 
short  time  repelled,  were  stronger  than  ever.  She  was 
tensely  awake.  Every  word  exchanged  between  Toby 
and  herself  came  ringing  into  her  head.  She  was  aghast 
at  the  stupidity,  the  cruel  and  brutal  stupidity,  of  her 
lover.  He  her  lover!  Love!  why  he  didn't  know  what 
love  meant !  He  would  take  everything  she  had  to  give ; 
and  when  he  was  asked  to  stand  by  her  Toby  would  re- 
pudiate her  claim  upon  him.  She  was  filled  with  vicious 
hatred  at  his  betrayal.  That  was  what  men  were !  That 
was  what  they  did !  Shirkers !  They  were  all  like  that, 
except  when  they  were  ridiculous  half -men  like  Gaga. 
What  was  she  to  do?  What  could  she  do?  Her  brain 
became  very  clear  and  active.  It  was  working  with  pain- 
ful alertness,  so  rapidly  that  she  often  did  not  reach  the 
end  of  one  channel  before  she  was  embarked  upon 
another.  Toby  was  hopeless.  She  must  act  by  herself. 
And  what  could  she  do? 

Supposing  she  could  do  nothing?  Disgrace,  failure 
.  .  .  She  was  frightened.  Better  anything  than  disclos- 
ure so  ignominious.  She  thought  of  Gaga:  very  well, 
there  was  still  time.  He  would  be  better  soon,  and  once 
he  was  better  she  could  easily  persuade  him  that  he  was 
the  father  of  her  baby.    That  was  the  simplest  plan,  and 


CONSEQUENCES  287 

one  which  had  been  so  much  taken  for  granted  that  she 
had  not  taken  it  sufficiently  into  account  as  the  only  safe 
course.  Gaga  could  be  deceived  because  he  had  no  sus- 
picion of  all  that  went  on  in  her  mind,  or  of  anything 
that  had  happened  in  her  life.  He  would  soon  be  better, 
and  when  once  they  were  united  he  would  be  wholly  in 
Sally's  hands.  Not  yet,  though.  He  must  get  well.  A 
quick  rush  of  relief  came  to  her  as  a  reassurance.  She 
could  have  laughed  at  her  own  panic.  Of  course  Gaga 
was  the  solution.  He  could  be  made  to  believe  almost 
anything.  But  supposing  .  .  .  supposing  that  he  would 
always  be  ill?  Then  indeed  she  would  be  better  dead. 
Dead?  But  how  could  she  die?  She  might  long  for 
death ;  but  death  was  not  an  oblivion  that  could  be  called 
up  at  will.     Sally  pondered  upon  the  possibilities. 

The  word  "POISON"  returned  to  her  memory. 
Quickly  there  followed  the  word  "arsenic."  Arsenic: 
what  did  she  recall?  Suddenly  Sally  remembered  that 
evening  long  ago  when  she  had  found  her  mother  read- 
ing an  account  of  the  Seddon  trial.  What  had  Seddon 
done?  All  the  details  came  crowding  to  her  attention. 
He  had  given  poison  in  food  ...  in  food.  And  Miss 
.  .  .  what  was  her  name?  Same  as  old  Perce's — Bar- 
row. Seddon  had  given  Miss  Barrow  arsenic.  It  had 
made  her  sick.  Sally  shuddered.  She  did  not  want  to 
be  sick.  She  had  had  enough  of  sickness  in  these  past 
few  weeks.  To  her  sickness  was  the  abomination  of  dis- 
ease. 

A  terrible  shock  ran  through  Sally's  body.  She  lay 
panting,  her  heart  seeming  to  throb  from  her  temples  to 
her  feet.  Miss  Barrow  had  been  constantly  sick  through 
taking  arsenic,  and  they  had  only  found  it  out  .  .  .  Gaga 
.  .  .  Sally's  face  grew  violently  hot.  She  could  not 
breathe.  She  sat  feverishly  up  in  bed,  staring  wildly. 
An  idea  had  occurred  to  her  so  monstrous  that  she  was 


288  COQUETTE 

stricken  with  a  sense  of  guilt  and  self-horror  such  as 
she  had  never  known. 


xvm 

All  that  night  Sally  dwelt  with  her  terrible  temptation. 
The  more  she  shrank  from  it  the  more  stealthily  it 
returned  to  her,  like  the  slow  fingers  of  an  incoming  tide. 
So  many  circumstances  gave  colour  to  her  belief  that 
the  poison  could  be  given  without  discovery  that  Sally 
found  every  detail  too  easy  to  conceive.  Gaga  would  be 
sick  again  and  again,  would  weaken,  would  .  .  .  Always 
her  imagination  refused  to  complete  the  story.  She  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands  and  sought  frantically  to 
hide  from  this  loathsome  whisper  that  pressed  tempta- 
tion upon  her.  Ill  and  frightened,  she  lay  turning  into 
every  posture  of  defiance  and  weakness  and  irresolu- 
tion, until  the  daylight  was  fully  come;  and  then  Gaga's 
voice  called  feebly  from  the  next  room,  and  she  must  rise 
to  tend  him  with  something  of  the  guilt  of  a  murderess 
oppressing  her  and  causing  her  during  the  whole  talk  to 
keep  her  face  turned  away. 

But  she  found  in  the  interview  strength  enough  for 
the  moment  to  bafile  temptation.  To  know  that  Gaga 
lay  helpless  there  before  her — hardly  moulded  into  recog- 
nisable form  by  the  clinging  bedclothes — was  a  reinforce- 
ment to  Sally's  good  will.  His  position  appealed  to  the 
pity  she  felt — the  pity  and  the  contempt.  He  was  so  thin 
and  weak,  so  exceedingly  fragile,  that  Sally  could  not  de- 
liberately have  hurt  him.  Instead,  she  was  bent  upon  his 
salvation. 

"Bertram,"  she  said.  "We  mtisf  get  away  to-day.  This 
morning.    D'you  see?    We  must." 

"O-o-oh!"  groaned  Gaga,  in  unformulated  opposition. 

"We  must.     We'll  go  to  Penterby  this  morning." 


CONSEQUENCES  289 

"But  my  dear!"  it  was  a  long  wailing  cry,  like  that  of 

an  old  woman. 

"We've  got  to  go.  Got  to  go.  I'll  get  everything 
ready.    You  shan't  have  to  worry  about  anything  at  all." 

"Sal-ly!"  Again  Gaga  wailed.  He  tried  to  pull  her 
down  to  him,  gently  and  coaxingly.  In  a  sort  of  hysteria, 
Sally  jerked  herself  free,  looking  steadily  away.  Her 
mouth  was  open,  and  brooding  resolve  was  in  her  eyes. 
She  was  not  tragic ;  she  was  in  confusion,  set  only  upon 
a  single  purpose,  and  otherwise  passively  in  distress.  Ob- 
stinately she  repulsed  him. 

"It's  no  good  talking.  We  miist  go.  I'm  ill,  as  well 
as  you.  The  doctor  says  we  must  both  go  away.  At 
once."  She  was  so  resolute  that  Gaga  could  not  resist 
her.  He  lay  quite  still,  and  for  that  reason  she  was 
forced  to  look  down  at  him.  To  Sally's  surprise  there  was 
upon  Gaga's  face  an  expression  of  such  sweetness  that 
she  was  almost  touched.  He  loved  her.  "There!"  she 
murmured,  as  if  to  a  baby;  and  bent  and  kissed  him. 
Gaga  kissed  her  several  times  in  return  and  continued  to 
watch  her,  still  with  that  strange  expression  of  kind- 
ness that  was  almost  worship.    He  stirred  at  last. 

"I'll  get  up,"  he  said.  "I'll  get  up  now.  It's  a  .  .  . 
it's  a  fine  idea.  We'll  catch  the  morning  train,  if  we 
hurry.    We'll  be  ...  be  there  in  time  for  lunch." 

Sally  was  in  such  a  whirl  of  thankfulness  that  she  flew 
to  her  dressing  and  packing.  She  and  Gaga  were  both 
downstairs  and  at  breakfast  within  half-an-hour,  seated 
at  the  big  dining-table,  and  looking  very  small  in  that 
great  room.  As  they  sat,  Gaga  was  so  happy  that  he 
repented  of  his  promise  to  go  away,  and  wanted  to  re- 
main at  ease  in  such  pleasant  circumstances.  He  began 
to  think  of  reasons  why  they  should  not  go  away  at  all. 
He  spoke  with  regret  of  the  new  flat,  of  their  prepara- 
tions .  .  .  even  of  the  business.    But  already  Sally  was 


290  COQUETTE 

upon  her  feet.  A  few  minutes  later  she  was  telephoning 
to  Miss  Summers  explaining  the  sudden  change  of  sit- 
uation ;  and  then  immediately  began  to  pack.  It  was  not 
a  difficult  task.  She  herself  had  few  things  to  take  away. 
Presently  Gaga  joined  idly  in  the  work;  and  the  two  of 
them  neatly  folded  his  clothes  and  slipped  into  his 
dressing-case  the  articles  he  was  bound  to  need  while  they 
were  away. 

"My  medicine!"  exclaimed  Gaga,  clutching  at  an  ex- 
cuse. 

"Got  enough  for  to-day;  and  I've  got  the  prescription." 
Sally  was  grim.  She  was  more — she  was  driven  by  in- 
stinct. It  was  essential  that  they  should  go  immediately. 
For  one  thing  Toby  might  return,  and  any  thought  of 
Toby  was  so  horrible  to  her  at  this  moment,  when  her 
first  hatred  was  giving  way  to  uncontrollable  longing  for 
him,  that  it  was  like  a  scourge.  And  for  another  thing 
Sally  was  in  terror  of  the  nightmare  temptation.  She 
was  fighting  against  that  with  all  the  strength  that  re- 
mained. Even  now,  if  she  looked  at  Gaga,  she  shuddered 
deeply. 

"What's  the  time  ?"  called  Gaga. 

"Miriam  .  .  .  telephone  for  a  cab!"  Sally  was  simul- 
taneously giving  instructions  to  a  servant.  She  went  to 
a  desk  in  which  she  kept  money,  and  found  that  she 
had  very  little  remaining.  "Bert,  got  any  money?  Well, 
your  cheque  book?" 

"In  the  study." 

It  was  a  fatal  word,  so  carelessly  spoken,  but  like  a 
blow  in  its  sharp  revival  of  something  that  was  being 
suppressed.  Sally  hurried  to  the  door  of  her  bedroom. 
As  suddenly,  she  stopped  dead.  The  study!  In  a  wave 
all  her  memory  of  the  previous  night's  wicked  temptation 
came  back  to  her.  It  was  only  with  a  great  effort  that 
she  went  further.     More  than  a  moment  passed  in  a 


CONSEQUENCES  291 

silent  struggle.  Almost  blindly,  she  entered  the  study, 
and  its  chill  atmosphere  was  tomb-like  in  its  effect  upon 
her.  Again  Sally  shuddered.  Groping,  she  found  Gaga's 
cheque  book,  and  turned  again  to  the  door.  The  walls 
of  the  tiny  room  seemed  to  rise  forbiddingly  around  her, 
to  come  closer,  to  begin  to  topple  over  as  if  in  ruin. 
Sally  gasped  for  breath.  She  cowered.  Everything  be- 
came dark  ...  A  long  time  passed  before  she  was  again 
conscious.  Clasping  the  cheque  book,  Sally  felt  her  way 
unsteadily,  with  her  eyes  closed,  until  she  stood  upon  the 
threshold.  She  was  breathing  slowly  and  deeply,  and 
she  could  see  nothing.  And  at  last,  fighting  still,  but 
incapable  of  conquering  the  stronger  influence  which  was 
being  exercised  upon  her  will,  she  went  back  into  the 
room,  and  stood  there  with  her  face  towards  the  cup- 
board. Quietly,  as  if  on  tiptoe,  she  passed  in  a  dream  to 
the  cupboard  and  unfastened  it,  and  without  ever  once 
looking  about  among  the  other  contents  of  the  shelf  put 
her  hand  upon  the  fatal  tin  which  she  had  found  while 
looking  for  Gaga's  cocoa.  With  this  tin  in  her  hand 
she  hastened  back  to  her  room,  closing  the  door  as  silently 
as  she  had  opened  it.  The  tin  was  quickly  laid  among 
her  clothes,  right  in  the  corner  of  her  dressing-case, 
hidden  from  any  prying  eye.  Then  Sally  straightened 
herself,  listened  and  bent  down  again  to  fasten  the  bag. 
Within  ten  minutes  she  and  Gaga  were  out  of  the  house, 
sitting  in  a  taxi  on  their  way  to  Victoria  Station.  Sally 
pressed  herself  back  in  the  comer  of  the  cab,  not  touching 
Gaga,  so  that  nobody  should  see  her;  and  at  the  station 
she  was  on  fire  until  they  were  settled  in  the  railway  car- 
riage and  the  train  was  slipping  gently  out  from  the  plat- 
form. Then  at  last  she  sighed  deeply,  as  if  with  relief, 
and  the  comers  of  her  mouth  drooped  until  she  looked 
like  a  little  girl  who  was  going  to  cry.  The  houses 
became  blurred. 


292  COQUETTE 

xix 

Gaga  and  Sally  reached  Penterby  in  a  very  different 
mood  and  a  very  different  state  of  health  from  that  which 
had  marked  their  arrival  on  the  previous  visit.    The  sta- 
tion,   with    its    confusing    platforms    and    connecting 
bridges,  was  by  now  familiar  to  Sally,  and  she  was  able 
to  turn  at  once  to  a  porter  and  give  him  instructions. 
Whereas  before  they  had  walked  the  short  distance  be- 
tween the  station  and  the  hotel  they  were  now  forced  to 
take  an  open,  horse-drawn,  cab.     It  stood  waiting  when 
they  reached  the  small  station  yard,  the  horse  still  nib- 
bling feebly  at  dropped  oats  upon  the  paving  and  with  its 
brea.th  blowing  them  farther  away.     The  few  little  cot- 
tages near  the  station  were  passed  in  an  instant,  and  the 
old-fashioned  main  street  of  Penterby,  reached  after  a 
short  run  between  a  hedge  upon  one  side  and  a  tall 
wooden  paling  upon  the  other,  was  about  them.    Above, 
the  sky  was  brilliantly  blue.    In  front  the  houses  rose  to- 
wards the  hill-top  as  of  old.     There  was  peace  here,  if 
Sally  could  find  it.     And  she  could  see  the  bridge,  and 
the  ivy-covered  hotel,  and  the  gold-lettered  board.     She 
sat  as  if  crushed  in  her  seat  in  the  cab,  staring  out  at 
the  hotel  with  an  expression  of  strain  and  eagerness. 
Beside  her  Gaga,  tired  by  the  journey,  yawned  behind  his 
long  hand,  his  hat  tilted  over  his  eyes,  and  his  mouth 
always  a  little  open.     It  was  a  strange  return,  and  Sally 
had  ado  to  preserve  any  lightness  of  step  and  tone  as  she 
jumped  down  from  the  cab  and  went  into  the  hotel.    As 
before,  she  noticed  the  silence  and  emptiness  of  the  small 
bar,  and  the  room  beyond ;  and  as  she  tapped  loudly  Mrs. 
Tennant  came  from  another  room.     This  time  it  was 
Sally  who  took  charge  of  everything.     Gaga  drooped  in 
the    background,    a    feeble    figure.      But    he    gathered 
strength  to  smile  at  Mrs.  Tennant  and  to  greet  her. 


CONSEQUENCES  293 

"I'm  not  well,  Mrs.  Tennant,"  he  said.  "I've  come  to 
get  .  .  .  get  .  .  .  get  well.  My  wife's  ill,  too.  You 
.  .  .  you  must  be  very  kind  to  us." 

"My!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tennant,  in  a  fat  voice  of  con- 
cern. Her  swollen  lips  were  parted  in  dismay.  "But  you 
both  look  so  bad!  Of  course:  you  can  have  the  same 
room  you  had  before.    Come  up!" 

She  led  the  way,  Sally  again  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
drawing-room  carpet  in  its  brilliant  mixture  of  reds  and 
blues  and  yellows,  and  was  immediately  afterwards 
drawn  into  the  old  dark  bedroom  opening  upon  the  glass- 
covered  balcony.  She  stood  in  dismay,  suddenly  regret- 
ful that  they  had  come  to  be  stifled  there. 

"Can  we  have  some  lunch?"  she  asked.  "My  hus- 
band's .  .  ." 

"Of  course."  Mrs.  Tennant's  geniality  was  benignant. 
But  in  her  eyes  there  remained  that  unappeasable  caution 
which  Sally  had  previously  noticed.    "At  once." 

Sally  slipped  out  of  the  room  with  her.  They  stood 
in  the  narrow  drab  passage — two  black-clothed  figures 
notably  contrasted  in  age  and  development.  Mrs.  Ten- 
nant was  so  stout,  and  Sally  so  slim,  that  the  difference 
between  them  was  emphasised  by  the  similiarity  of  cloth- 
ing. 

"My  husband's  mother's  dead.  He  was  awfully  fond 
of  her.  He's  been  ill  ever  since,  and  the  doctor  said  he'd 
better  come  away." 

"You're  ill  yourself,  you  know,  Mrs.  Merrick,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Tennant. 

"I've  been  nursing  him  a  month — night  and  day.  He's 
not  strong.  We'd  barely  got  back  when  she  died.  What 
with  his  illness,  and  the  business — it's  been  terrible!" 

Sally  was  watching  Mrs.  Tennant — she  did  not  know 
why.  She  felt  defensive.  All  was  the  result  of  her  own 
position  and  the  dreadful  knowledge  which  she  had  of 


294  COQUETTE 

her  last  night's  temptation.  She  looked  like  a  young  girl, 
but  so  pale  and  hollow-eyed  that  she  would  have  aroused 
pity  in  any  woman  of  experience. 

"But  it's  you.  I  know  Mr.  Merrick.  I've  often  seen 
him  queer.  But  you're  so  changed.  When  you  were 
here  before  ..." 

"I  know.    I'm  ill." 

"I  said  to  my  sister  how  strong  and  bright  you  were. 
We  both  thought  you'd  make  a — well,  a  new  man  of  Mr. 
Merrick." 

"It's  only  his  mother's  dying  like  that.  He  was  wor- 
ried about  her,  and  then  she  died;  and  he  just  went  to 
pieces.  He  had  to  be  put  to  bed  at  once.  I'll  put  him 
to  bed  again  as  soon  as  we've  had  something  to  eat. 
He's  so  weak.  It's  the  change  he  wants,  and  the  fresh 
air." 

"And  you  too,  my  dear."  Mrs.  Tennant  seemed  really 
to  be  kind. 

"When  he's  asleep  I'll  go  for  a  walk.  I'll  soon  be 
well."  Sally  was  reassuring;  but  she  was  made  aware  of 
her  own  weakness  by  having  had  attention  drawn  to  the 
appearance  of  it. 

They  parted  with  smiles.  Sally  made  as  if  to  re-enter 
the  bedroom;  but,  instead,  she  went  through  the  draw- 
ing-room and  on  to  the  balcony.  The  river  was  run- 
ning swiftly  up-stream,  so  that  the  thick  mud  was  hidden. 
Back  along  its  course  came  little  floating  masses  of  col- 
lected material,  like  miniature  islands  in  progress  up  and 
down  the  river.  Sally  stood  watching  one  of  these 
masses,  until  it  grew  indistinct  as  the  result  of  her  in- 
tentness.  The  sun  was  making  the  houses  beyond  the 
river  glitter  anew,  and  the  whole  town  was  beautified 
in  its  light.  A  feeling  of  great  misery  seized  Sally.  She 
stared  down  at  the  discoloured  stream,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears.    She  was  again  consumed  with  a  sense 


CONSEQUENCES  295 

of  loneliness;  and  a  faint  horror  of  the  returning  tide 
caused  her  to  break  once  again  from  her  contemplation, 
to  walk  back  through  the  drawing-room,  and  to  re- 
join Gaga.  He  was  sitting  upon  the  bed,  regarding  with 
a  vacant  expression  the  two  dressing-cases  which  had 
been  brought  up  to  the  room  and  which  stood  together 
against  the  wall.  The  room  was  cold  and  dark.  Sally 
impulsively  went  to  the  French  windows  opening  upon 
the  balcony  and  drew  back  the  curtains. 

"There  now,"  she  said.  "You're  going  to  get  better. 
You  can  see  the  sun." 

Gaga  smiled  gently.  Sally  came  back  to  him  and 
stood  with  her  hand  ruffling  his  thin  hair.  She  too 
smiled,  but  with  abstraction.  She  was  numbed  by  ill- 
ness and  horror  and  the  journey  and  her  vision  of  the 
dirty  merciless  water. 


XX 

When  they  had  eaten  their  lunch,  Sally  helped  Gaga  to 
undress  and  left  him  in  bed  with  the  curtains  again  closed 
and  the  bedroom,  thus  darkened,  smelling  close  and  dank, 
as  if  it  were  the  haunt  of  blackbeetles.  When  the  cur- 
tains were  drawn  the  whole  room  faded  to  a  uniformity 
of  grey-brown,  and  the  pictures  and  ornaments  became 
dim  shadows,  and  the  mirror  upon  the  dressing-table 
took  upon  itself  a  mysterious  air,  as  though  in  its  depths 
one  might  read  something  of  the  hidden  future.  All  was 
sunk  in  a  sorrowful  gloom,  and  the  barely-outlined  re- 
cumbent figure  of  Gaga  might  have  been  that  of  a  dead 
man.  Upon  tiptoe,  Sally  stole  quietly  from  the  room. 
For  a  little  while  she  sat  alone  over  a  fire  which  had  been 
lighted  in  the  drawing-room;  but  the  evening  was  be- 
ginning to  cast  darkness  over  everything;  and  in  the 
west  the  last  hot  reflections  of  the  sun  were  cast  upon 


296  COQUETTE 

two  or  three  casual  clouds.  Sally  therefore  rose,  and 
took  her  hat  and  coat,  which  were  lying  near  the  piano. 
As  it  was  the  middle  of  the  week,  and  in  autumn,  the 
hotel  was  almost  empty,  and  would  not  be  occupied  with 
any  visitors  for  two  or  three  more  days.  It  was  a  dull 
place  once  the  sun  had  set.  For  a  moment  Sally  hesi- 
tated in  putting  on  her  hat ;  but  at  last  she  ventured  forth, 
and  was  out  in  the  greying  street,  and  upon  the  bridge 
across  the  river.  The  water,  as  she  hurried  by,  ran 
silently  below,  blackened  and  threatening,  and  as  there 
would  be  no  moon  the  night  was  coming  with  great 
darkness.  Over  the  bridge  Sally  noticed  the  early  lights 
in  the  post  office,  and  a  few  street  lamps.  One  road  ran 
a  little  way  up  the  hill  and  was  immediately  checked  by 
houses.  Another  turned  off  to  the  north-west,  and  it  was 
here  that  she  would  find  a  shop  at  which  she  could  leave 
the  prescription  for  Gaga's  medicine.  Once  she  had  per- 
formed her  task  Sally  walked  briskly  on  until  she  came 
to  the  end  of  the  houses  and  into  a  road  to  the  edges  of 
which  trees  grew  and  grass  came  irregularly  running. 
Beneath  the  trees  darkness  already  obliterated  all  shape, 
and  the  fringes  of  the  wood  were  so  bare  of  leafage 
that  she  could  already  look  up  to  the  grey  sky  between 
the  boughs  and  their  filmy  branches.  No  vehicles  passed. 
She  was  alone  upon  this  broad  road,  with  nothing  upon 
either  hand  but  unexplored  depths  of  shadow  and  silence. 
Every  now  and  then  a  stationary  light  spotted  the  dusk. 
She  was  appalled  by  her  loneliness. 

Quickly  as  she  had  walked  away  from  Penterby,  Sally 
returned  to  the  town  with  even  greater  speed,  warmed  by 
the  exercise,  but  chilled  by  her  thoughts  and  perplexities. 
When  she  was  alone,  and  so  hemmed  in  by  sinister  dark- 
ness, Sally  was  brought  quickly  back  to  her  forebodings. 
She  remembered  the  solitary  figure  which  she  had  left, 
and  thought  of  Gaga  was  shrinking.    Of  Toby  she  could 


CONSEQUENCES  29T 

only  find  herself  thinking  with  anger.  Yet  it  was  not 
wholly  anger,  for  she  was  also  afraid  and  filled  with  long- 
ing. Her  anger  was  even  obliterated  by  her  love,  so  much 
did  she  adore  Toby's  strength.  His  cruelty,  his  brutal  in- 
difference, were  spurs  to  her  unreasoning  affection. 
Whatever  Toby  might  do,  Sally  loved  him.  The  love 
which  she  had  believed  herself  indignantly  to  have  cast 
out  was  still  paramount.  Finally,  in  all  her  fleeting  con- 
siderations of  the  moment  and  the  future,  she  could  not 
ignore  the  baby  which  was  coming.  She  had  no  thought 
of  it  other  than  fear  and  loathing.  Not  yet  had  desire  for 
a  child  created  in  her  mind  a  new  longing.  If  she  could 
have  killed  it  she  would  have  done  so;  and  she  was  pre- 
vented from  contemplating  this  possibility  only  by  the 
ignorance  which  inexperience  and  friendlessness  imposed 
upon  her.  Sally  was  awed  and  terrified  by  the  gloom 
which  gathered  in  her  heart  and  about  her.  She  sped  on- 
wards until  she  reached  the  bridge,  and  here  for  several 
minutes  she  uncontrollably  paused.  All  was  now  black, 
and  the  tide  had  turned.  Already  the  water  was  flowing 
to  the  sea,  and  she  could  imagine  the  coagulated  masses 
vaguely  swirling  beneath  her,  borne  unresisting  upon  the 
outgoing  tide.  The  hotel  was  in  darkness,  excepting  for 
the  room  beneath  the  balcony  where  the  walls  descended 
straight  to  the  water  and  the  mud.  Here  there  was  a 
dim  light.  All  above  was  sombre  until  she  reached  in 
her  steady  upward  glance  the  sky's  faint  background  and 
saw  its  unfathomable  arch  of  grey. 

The  bar  of  the  hotel  was  empty.  Unperceived,  Sally 
went  upstairs  and  into  the  bedroom  where  Gaga  lay.  She 
closed  the  door  behind  her  and  switched  on  the  electric 
light.  To  her  surprise  Gaga  was  lying  on  his  side,  and 
his  face  was  turned  towards  her. 

"You  awake?"  she  whispered.  At  his  soft  sound  of 
greeting  she  went  forward  and  sat  upon  the  bed,     "It's 


298  COQUETTE 

half-past-four,"  Sally  continued.  "Like  some  tea? 
Going  to  get  up  again?" 

"I  .  .  .  I'm  so  tired,"  murmured  Gaga.  He  had  taken 
her  hand,  and  held  it  to  his  cheek,  so  that  Sally  had  to 
lean  forward.  In  this  mood  he  was  so  like  a  child  that 
Sally's  heart  softened.  She  found  him  pathetic,  and  her 
own  strength  was  emphasised  by  his  weakness. 

"Better  stay  in  bed,"  she  said. 

"But  you?    Aren't  you  .  .  .  aren't  you  lonely?" 

"Mm.  Nobody  here.  Nothing  to  do.  I  been  for  a 
walk  and  got  frightened." 

"I'll  get  up.  Yes,  I  will.  After  tea  we'll  walk  along 
that  av  .  .  .  avenue.  In  the  moonlight.  Like  your 
song." 

"There's  no  moon  up  yet,"  Sally  told  him,  not  moving. 
"You  stay  where  you  are.  Stay  nice  and  warm  in  bed. 
I  shall  be  all  right.  I'll  go  for  a  walk  along  the  ave- 
nue by  myself." 

"And  be  f  .  .  .  frightened  again." 

"Shan't  wait  to  be  frightened,"  Sally  said.  "See  me 
dart  back!" 

Gaga  fondled  her  hand  and  reached  for  the  other  one, 
which  she  patiently  yielded. 

"You  .  .  .  you're  so  nice,"  he  murmured.  "So  good 
to  me." 

"I?  Good?"  Sally's  shoulders  were  hoisted.  She  al- 
most withdrew  her  hands. 

"Yes.  But  Sally  .  .  .  I  .  .  ."  He  was  overcome, 
and  could  not  proceed.  Tears  had  started  to  his  eyes. 
"I  haven't  been  sleeping.  I've  been  thinking.  Last 
night  .  .  ." 

"Last  night!"  Sally  convulsively  jerked  her  hands 
away,  and  as  quickly  restored  them. 

"You  thought  I'd  ...  I'd  ..  .  been  .  .  .  been  spy- 
ing." 


CONSEQUENCES  299 

"Of  course  you  weren't.     I  was  ill.     I  was  a  beast." 

"Sally,  I  never  did.  You  .  .  .  you  have  a  lot  .  .  . 
I've  been  thinking  ...  a  lot  to  put  up  with.  Marrying 
a  ...  a  sick  man;  and  you  .  .  ." 

Sally  could  not  bear  him  to  talk  thus.  She  freed  her- 
self, and  rose, 

"Here's  a  lot  of  talk !"  she  protested.  "You  get  well, 
old  son.    Then  we'll  see." 

Gaga  did  not  say  anything  for  a  moment.  At  last  he 
spoke  again. 

"Sally,  would  you  .  .  .  would  you  mind  very  much 
if  I  did  .  .  .  didn't  get  well?"  he  asked. 

"Course  I  should!"  But  Sally  was  filled  with  alarm 
at  this  conversation.  She  turned  upon  Gaga,  but  she 
could  not  meet  his  soft  eyes.  "Here,  you're  talking 
silly!" 

"Sally  ...  I  ...  I  wasn't  spying,"  said  Gaga,  slow- 
ly.   "But  I  ...  I  did  see  a  man  at  the  gate  last  night." 

Sally  clutched  the  back  of  a  chair.  For  a  moment  she 
thought  she  must  be  going  to  faint.  Then,  with  a  tre- 
mendous effort,  she  controlled  herself. 

"What  d'you  mean?"  she  demanded. 

"Behind  you.     With  you." 

"Never!" 

Gaga  continued  to  regard  her.  His  smile  was  no  longer 
visible.  She  only  noticed  that  he  was  paler,  that  his 
nostrils  were  pinched  and  his  eyes  dark. 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  the  truth,"  he  said. 

"I  tell  you  there  was  nobody  with  me,"  lied  Sally.  "No- 
body. There  may  have  been  a  man  behind  me.  I  did  get 
a  bit  of  a  start.  Somebody  came  out  of  a  gate.  I  didn't 
notice." 

"Sally  ...  I  ...  I  heard  him  call  you  *Sally.' " 

She  was  stricken  with  terror  at  his  quietness. 


800  COQUETTE 

"Nobody  called  me  Sally!"  she  cried.  *'I  don't  know 
anybody." 

Gaga  sighed,  and  his  head  fell  sideways,  so  that  he  no 
longer  looked  at  her.  They  spoke  no  more.  She  believed 
that  he  knew  she  had  been  lying ;  but  she  had  been  caught 
unawares,  and  could  not  retract  her  assertions.  Without 
a  further  word  she  began  to  prepare  a  basin  of  water, 
and  washed  herself.  Then  she  went  to  ask  that  tea  might 
be  brought  to  the  bedroom.  They  drank  the  tea  in  silence, 
both  very  grave.  When  they  had  finished,  Sally  took 
the  tray  to  the  end  of  the  passage,  where  there  was  a  pro- 
jecting ledge,  and  then  returned  to  the  room. 

"Shall  I  go  and  sing  to  you?"  she  asked. 

"Not  .  ,  .  not  now.  Go  for  your  wa  .  .  .  walk,  I 
shan't  have  any  dinner.    I'll  just  have  a  cup  of  cocoa." 

Cocoa!    Sally  was  transfixed. 

"Oh,  not  cocoal"  she  cried.  "Not  cocoal"  It  was  a 
desperate  appeal.  It  came  from  the  depths  of  her  heart. 
She  had  been  alarmed  at  his  speech.  She  had  been  afraid 
of  what  he  might  do.  But  more  than  all  she  was  afraid 
of  the  horrible  voice  that  had  followed  fear  with  its  imag- 
inings of  the  means  to  her  own  salvation.  At  his  further 
silence,  she  went  quickly  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  the 
hotel.  She  walked  at  a  rapid  pace  along  the  avenue,  where 
others  also  were  walking,  as  it  was  a  favourite  prome- 
nade; and  she  found  herself  shaking  with  emotion  as  the 
result  of  the  disclosure  which  Gaga  had  made.  He  knew. 
He  knew.  What  did  he  know  ?  And  what  would  he  do  ? 
Sally  laughed  hysterically.  Oh,  let  him  do  it  soonl  It 
was  suspense  that  she  could  not  bear.  It  was  the  ghastly 
sense  of  muddle  and  falsehood  that  was  oppressing  her 
now.  Death — punishment — these  were  things  of  indif- 
ference. It  was  the  fear  of  either  that  made  her  torture. 
To  know  the  worst,  to  face  it,  to  suffer  for  all  she  had 
done  that  was  wrong,  would  satisfy  her.    But  to  be  kept 


CONSEQUENCES  301 

in  this  horrible  suspense  much  longer  would  send  her  mad. 
Why  had  she  not  told  Gaga  the  truth  ?  She  began  hyster- 
ically to  condemn  herself.  She  should  have  told  him  the 
truth.  She  should  have  said  that  Toby  was  an  old  lover, 
jealous,  angry,  threatening.  Now  she  could  not  tell  any 
such  tale,  because  she  had  denied  that  a  man  had  used  her 
name.  To  confess  would  make  him  disbelieve  anything 
she  ever  said.  Sally  shrugged.  He  did  not  believe  her 
now.  He  would  never  believe  her.  Once  he  was  well  he 
would  find  out  everything.  He  would  suspect  her.  He 
would  persecute  her  with  suspicions.  He  would  suspect 
that  she  was  going  to  have  a  baby.  He  would  suspect 
...  he  would  know  .  .  . 

Creeping,  creeping  into  Sally's  mind  came  temptation. 
She  walked  more  swiftly  until  she  reached  a  part  of  the 
road  which  bordered  the  river.  The  water  was  less  muddy 
here.  The  river  looked  in  this  aspect  like  a  big  pool  of 
liquid  lead.  It  was  less  sinister.  It  carried  to  her  heart 
no  sense  of  horror.  She  turned  and  began  to  walk  back, 
meeting  every  now  and  then  a  couple  of  pedestrians,  or 
little  knots  of  people,  or  solitary  individuals  like  herself, 
who  strolled  to  and  fro  along  the  broad  avenue.  But  it 
was  very  dark,  and  she  could  not  well  see  the  faces  of 
those  who  passed,  except  when  they  were  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  a  light.  She  did  not  recognise  anybody ;  and 
when  she  came  once  more  to  the  bridge  she  did  not  tarry, 
but  walked  straight  across  it.  Upon  the  face  of  the  river 
were  reflected  the  lights  of  the  hotel,  for  the  balcony  was 
now  faintly  illumined,  and  she  could  see  that  the  curtains 
had  been  drawn  at  the  corner  windows,  although  not  else- 
where. Again  unperceived,  she  made  her  way  upstairs 
and  into  the  drawing-room,  where  she  removed  her  coat 
and  hat  and  seated  herself  at  the  piano. 


302  COQUETTE 

xxi 

But  Sally  did  not  stay  at  the  piano.  She  was  restless 
and  apprehensive.  She  did  not  dare  to  strike  a  note,  in 
c^.se  Gaga  should  be  asleep.  And  she  could  not  go  into 
the  bedroom.  She  tried  to  do  so,  but  she  so  shrank  from 
meeting  Gaga  after  their  talk  that  ever}^  impulse  held 
her  faltering  here.  Instead,  Sally  went  through  the  door 
which  led  from  the  drawing-room  to  the  balcony.  Only 
one  light  was  burning,  at  the  farther  end,  and  this  cast 
such  a  tiny  ray  that  it  threw  up  the  shadows  of  no  more 
than  a  single  enamelled  iron  table  and  wicker  chair.  For 
the  rest,  everything  was  in  a  monotonous  grey  twilight, 
bereft  of  all  incidental  colourings  and  of  all  significance. 
The  electric  bulb  was  grimed  with  age  and  the  action  of 
the  air,  and  the  light  was  quite  yellow,  as  that  from  an 
oil  lamp  would  have  been.  The  matting  with  which  the 
floor  of  the  balcony  was  covered  was  in  shadow.  Through 
the  windows  Sally  could  see  only  a  blackness  in  which 
the  water  and  the  opposite  bank  and  the  buildings  farther 
away  were  all  obscured.  She  went  towards  the  light,  and 
sat  here  in  an  armchair,  staring  straight  before  her,  and 
thinking  the  one  word  .  .  .  poison  .  .  .  poison  .  .  . 
poison. 

She  must  have  been  sitting  upon  the  balcony  for  sev- 
eral minutes  in  this  state  approaching  stupor,  when  she 
heard  a  faint  sound.  It  w-as  like  the  brushing  of  leaves 
against  a  passing  body.  Her  heart  quickened,  and  she 
looked  quickly  towards  the  darker  end  of  the  balcony, 
near  the  door  leading  to  the  drawing-room.  She  could 
see  nothing  at  all,  but  her  nerves  did  not  relax  their  tense- 
ness. She  could  see  nothing ;  but  she  felt  that  something — 
somebody  was  there,  watching  her.  Somebody — ^whom 
could  it  be?  Sally  knew  how  deserted  the  bar  was,  how 
easy  it  would  be  for  a  man  to  slip  up  the  stairs  without 


CONSEQUENCES  303 

being  seen.  She  was  defenceless.  If  she  had  been  well, 
she  would  have  gone  straight  along  the  balcony,  to  dis- 
cover the  cause  of  her  alarm;  but  she  was  ill,  and  she 
shrank  back  in  her  chair,  watching  the  pulsing  dimness. 

Sally  knew  that  there  were  only  two  people  who  could 
wish  her  harm — Gaga  and  Toby,  If  Gaga  had  gone  out 
of  his  bedroom  by  the  inner  door  he  might  have  come 
round  through  the  drawing-room,  and  might  be  standing 
there  in  the  darkness.  He  might  have  gone  away  again. 
He  might  have  found  the  poison.  In  a  passion  of  fear, 
she  rose.  If  it  was  Gaga,  she  would  soon  confront  him. 
She  would  satisfy  herself  of  his  presence  in  the  bedroom. 
She  took  two  steps,  and  then  stopped,  her  heart  frantically 
beating.    There  was  somebody  there. 

"Sally,"  came  a  sharp  whisper.  "Sally.  Don't  be 
afraid." 

It  was  Toby,  hidden  still  from  sight,  but  waiting  there 
at  the  dark  end  of  the  balcony. 

xxii 

Sally's  eyes  flew  instantly  to  the  window  of  the  bed- 
room. All  there  was  dark.  She  could  not  tell  if  the  blinds 
were  drawn  or  not.  She  no  longer  dreaded  Toby :  she  too 
violently  desired  to  see  him,  to  be  in  his  arms  and  saved 
from  her  nightmare  thoughts  by  a  moment's  oblivion. 

"Hush!"  she  whispered,  and  went  silently  along  the 
balcony.    "What  d'you  want?" 

"I  want  you."  Toby's  voice  came  hissing  into  her  ear, 
and  she  saw  him  at  last.  He  was  standing,  a  burly  fig- 
ure. In  the  shadow  of  a  screen,  and  remained  quite  still, 
hidden. 

"What  did  you  come  for?    How  did  you  get  here?" 

"Went  to  your  house.    Frightened  'em."  Toby  laughed 


304f  COQUETTE 

grimly.  "Thought  you'd  got  away,  didn't  you?  Well, 
here  I  am,"    His  tone  became  suddenly  ferocious.  "See?" 

"You  can't  ...  we  can't  talk.  My  husband's  there — 
in  that  room.    He'll  hear.    He  saw  you  last  night." 

"'I  got  to  see  you,"  Toby  whispered,  obstinately.  "See? 
I  mean  to  say,  I  got  to  know  what  you're  going  to  do." 

Sally  gave  a  contemptuous  laugh.  So  he  had  followed 
her  for  that! 

"Well,  I'm  well  rid  of  you"  she  answered.  "I  see 
what  you  are." 

"Oh,  you  do,  do  you  .  .  ."  said  Toby.  He  gripped 
her  arm.  "Not  so  much  of  that,  Sal.  D'you  see?  I 
won't  have  it.    You  belong  to  me." 

"I  don't!"  But  Sally  was  only  waiting  for  his  fierce 
embrace,  and  longing  for  it.  "I  don't  like  you.  I  don't 
want  you.    I've  had  enough.    You  let  me  down." 

Toby  started.     His  voice  became  thick  with  anger. 

"My  Christ !  Who  let  anybody  down  ?  What  did  you 
do  to  me?  Eh?  You  married  this  chap.  You  did  it 
for  yourself.  Let  you  down,  do  I?  Oh,  I'm  a  good  mind 
to  kill  you,  Sal." 

Sally  shivered.  She  knew  he  might  do  it.  He  could  do 
it.  It  was  his  nature.  But  she  answered  him  defiantly, 
sneeringly. 

"Yes,  if  you  want  to  be  hung  for  it." 

Toby  was  holding  her  so  that  her  arms  were  being 
bruised.  He  pulled  her  towards  him,  and  kissed  her 
again  and  again.    He  was  crushing  her. 

"See?"  he  said.    "That's  how  you  belong  to  me." 

"Well,  what  about  it  ?"  panted  Sally.  "Let  me  go.  .  .  . 
Just  because  you're  strong." 

"You're  coming  off  with  me.    See  ?    Now." 

"I'm  not."    She  was  equally  determined. 

"Now.    Can  you  get  your  hat?" 

"Fm  not,"  repeated  Sally. 


CONSEQUENCES  305 

Toby  swung  her  off  her  feet  with  one  arm. 

"See?"  he  announced  again.    "That's  what." 

"Go  on,  that's  all  you  can  do,"  answered  Sally,  savage- 
ly. "You  clear  off.  I've  had  enough  of  it."  She  dived 
suddenly,  and  escaped  from  him.  She  was  a  few  steps 
away,  and  Toby  was  in  pursuit.  As  he  followed,  he  kicked 
against  one  of  the  little  iron  tables,  which  he  had  not 
seen  in  the  half-light,  and  sent  it  crashing  to  the  floor. 
Amid  their  silence  it  made  a  hideous  noise.  Sally  drew 
herself  upright,  terrified  into  rigidity.  This  was  the  fin- 
ish— the  finish.  It  was  all  over  now.  She  was  beaten. 
She  .  .  .  And  as  she  stared  she  saw  that  the  French 
window  of  the  bedroom  was  open — had  been  open,  per- 
haps, all  the  time, — and  that  Gaga  was  standing  there, 
as  if  he  had  overheard  all  that  they  had  said. 

"Sally!"  he  cried  in  a  sharp  voice  of  alarm.  "Oh,  my 
God!     Oh,  my  GodV 

Gaga  came  leaping  out  upon  the  balcony  as  Toby  stum- 
bled on  towards  Sally.  The  two  men  were  sharply  in 
conflict,  and  Gaga's  arm  was  raised.  She  could  see  it 
even  in  the  shadow — ^the  raised  arm,  and  the  impact  of 
the  two  bodies.  Gaga  was  in  his  sleeping-suit,  spectral 
in  his  gauntness  and  his  pallor.  Maddened,  Toby  swept 
his  enemy  aside  with  one  violent  blow  that  would  have 
killed  the  strongest  man.  Gaga  went  down,  his  head  and 
body  thrown  with  great  force  against  the  brick  wall  of  the 
hotel,  and  sliding  to  the  ground  with  such  momentum  that 
there  was  a  further  concussion. 

"Toby!"  shrieked  Sally.    "Toby!    You've  killed  him !" 

Gaga  lay  in  the  shadow,  quite  motionless,  a  horrible 
twisted  body  without  life.  And  the  two  others  stood 
panting  in  the  twilight,  staring  down  at  his  ghastly  up- 
turned face.  Toby  was  as  if  paralysed  by  the  sight,  his 
hand  sleepily  raised  to  his  brow. 

A  voice  sounded  from  downstairs. 


306  COQUETTE 

"Did  you  call,  Mrs.  Merrick?"  And  then  ascending 
steps  followed. 

Sally  made  a  frantic  gesture. 

"Get  out !"  she  cried.  "Quick.  They're  coming.  They'll 
find  you.  He's  dead.  Get  out !"  She  waved  to  the  win- 
dows. 

With  one  glance  round,  and  with  fear  at  his  heels,  Toby 
ran  to  the  side  of  the  balcony,  pulled  aside  one  of  the  win- 
dows, and  climbed  out  into  the  darkness.  Sally  saw  him 
no  more.  She  was  only  aware  that  something  terrible 
happened,  and  that  he  missed  his  footing  and  plunged 
downwards  towards  the  running  water  and  the  sickening 
mud.  Then,  as  she  convulsively  jerked  the  window  close 
again,  she  was  overcome  with  deadly  faintness,  and  her- 
self fell  upon  the  matting,  striking  her  head  as  she  fell, 
and  losing  consciousness. 


THE  END 


Date  Due 

FEB2' 

^1976 

BECD  JA 

i  2  4  1976 

PBINTCD  IN  O.8.*.               CAT.    NO.    24    1 6 1                (**?" 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  UBRARY  FACIUTY 


A     000  823  138     3 


